Disenchanted
by Artanis
Summary: ‘Yet each man kills the thing he loves…’ Maeve Sinclaire will cherish and rue the day Tom Riddle ever laid eyes upon her.
1. Chapter 1

I've always disagreed with the theory that Tom was simply born evil. After all, it's our choices that make us who we really are, right, Dumbledore? Born heartless, born selfish and arrogant...but I find it hard to believe he was born evil. Every story has two sides, doesn't it? And you're not going to telling me that just because he was a sociopath he abstained from intimate human contact. It's a physical impossibility.

In any case, there's my rant about the typical Tom persona. And without further adieu, i give you _Disenchanted:_

_"Each man kills the thing he loves, by each let this be heard_

_Some do it with a bitter look, some with a flattering word!_

_The coward does with a kiss, the brave man with a sword!" ~**Oscar Wilde** (The bloody genius)_

_**~*~**_

_"Try, try for some remorse, Riddle." The hatred that was almost greater than anything else roiled in Voldemort's mind, in his very being. Remorse?! REMORSE!? For what!? He regretted nothing, everything was his. Every dream so close to culmination now, and this insolent little pup, this maggot, was telling him to try for some remorse?! Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort regretted nothing--_

_"You dare--" But even as he spoke the words, the memory of one love, the only thing apart from himself that he had ever loved, because she herself had simply been but an extension of him. The slit red eyes which had once been a glittering gray silver, turned on a face amid the crowd. A face who's similarity to her grandmothers had not escaped him, a likeness which sent every fiber of his hate driven mind spitting with fury. Lies! LIAR! _

_Voldemort turned back to Harry Potter, his breath hissing angrily from his twisted sham of a body, this pathetic hull of what had been him. He only half-listened to the boys speech, answering with the barest effort. He wanted to kill the boy and be done with it, shut up the inane chatter that shocked him with each new revelation. There was no time to gloat, it was time to get the job done. To end it, once and for all. None of this boys foolish talk mattered to him._

_"But what does it matter?" Tom said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone…and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…."_

_"But you're too late, you've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him." How dare he! How dare-!_

_"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know it's last master was disarmed? Because if it does…I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_

_"_Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

_And it was in those last moments of his life, those last seconds, that Tom looked to the face that he recognized. A face that in the blazing sunrise, was not simply similar to her grandmothers, but identical. It was like she had appeared to punish him, a vision of loveliness to wave him away to hell like an avenging angel. Every memory rushed back…_

Long, straight, white fingers clutched an apple. The fruit was light green, perfectly shaped so that the light caught the sheen of the skin just right in the dim light that trickled through the window pane. The sun smiled down on the castle today in a rare show of clement weather that prompted it's occupants to venture outside and enjoy the singular experience while it lasted.

Tom tipped his head back against the cool stone of the windowsill, rolling the apple in his palm. He lolled across the stone ledge, his long body stretched out like a snake sunning itself. He watched the other students through the glass, as if they were goldfish swimming around and around the same bowl. Some of them studied, others cuddled close with their respective partners, some first years ran about playfully…some just lounged about like him.

And then…there was _her._ She sat half-hidden under the boughs of a willow tree, curled against it's trunk. Long hair like molten golden drifted across the exquisitely sculptured features with the stirring of the breeze. She lay asleep, stretched out like some forgotten fairy queen, her fair skin shimmering wherever the sunlight kissed it. A year younger than him and completely, absolutely…intriguing.

She was not extraordinarily beautiful, just understatedly so. It was why he hadn'tpaif her any notice before, she hid the good looks well. No makeup and a very low profile. A blue and bronze tie around her throat coupled with the pile of books clearly indicated that this magnificent specimen was a Ravenclaw. Hmm, he'd never bedded one of _those _before, maybe it was time to try. In fact, the thought was appealing to him more and more by the moment. It was a house renowned for it's intelligence and(though the Sorting Hat would never say so) it's physically attractive occupants. Certainly, it had it's shortcomings: Muggle borns and Half-bloods. But you could tell by the tilt of this girls head that she was neither. Only the purest blood ran through those veins and under that perfect pale skin…

A shadow fell across the sill and Tom looked up just as a cascade of blue-black tresses blocked the Ravenclaw from view. He felt a long fingered hand slide up the inside of his thigh and another reach over and take the apple from his lazy grasp. The scent of Caoinin O'Brien was thick in his nose as she seated herself on his lap, her sapphire blue eyes focused on him completely as she took a seductive bite of his apple.

"I was going to eat that," Tom sighed and with a shove sent her tumbling to the ground.

"We can share it." She pouted, her ruby bottom lip jutting out pathetically.

"I'm done sharing with you, O'Brien. It's boring. Now, go away and leave me in peace." He looked out at the girl again, but she was gone. Damn!

"You cannot throw me away so easily, Riddle. My family's important, we have power. You need me." Despite Cao's harsh words, she sounded desperate. Tom Riddle gazed down into the china blue eyes, the milk white and perfect face…and laughed.

"No, I do not need you. Or at least, not anymore." And he turned away from her, tossing the apple over his shoulder.

~*~

The persistence of this particular scorned lover, however, could not be ignored. She was aggravating, she was endlessly in pursuit of his attention. And he was fast losing his patience with the shallow, weak little creature. Perhaps, if Cao had not been so unbearable, he never would have spared the Ravenclaw a second glance. Maybe she would have escaped….

"Tom, who the hell are you ogling now?" Caonin O'Brien's whine was like a mildy annoying fly and Tom Riddle made a swiping motion close to his ear. How could she _still_ be bothering him? What an incredible nuisance she was. He glared down into the stunningly beautiful face. Her milky skin was stretched tightly over her high cheek bones and her features seemed inconsistent. Her rosy lips were pulled back slightly over her teeth as she glared at the Ravenclaw girl he'd been staring at. Curls that glinted blue black even in this dim light cascaded down her back. She reminded him vaguely of a shark, sapphire blue eyes always hunting for more prey. It was what had attracted him in the first place, her cool disdain. What drove him away was boredom and irritation.

"Don't you have someone else to bother, O'Brien? Something better to do then be mind-numbingly predictable?" He murmured coldly and turned away from her, eyes searching for the Ravenclaw girl again. There was a snicker from across the table and Caonin turned and flicked her wand so it was pointing at the boy who'd just sat down on Riddle's left.

"What are you laughing at, Lupus Black?" She spat the words so viciously spittle flew from her lips. Tom winced again at the shrillness of her tone and tried to catch sight of the girl.

"A kitten with her claws unsheathed." Lupus responded casually and almost instantly noticed the focus of his friends attention. "She's a bit plain, isn't she?"

"Pureblood." He said distractedly, his eyes on the girl. Blonde hair fell to her waist and her face had a pleasant shape, similar to Caonin's yet far, far softer. Her skin was more creamy than milky. Her cheeks had a sort of elegant hollowness to them, facial features that flowed together seamlessly. Her eyes were wide and expressive, a deep and rare emerald green.

He let his eyes stray over the rest of her, appraising her figure. It was difficult to tell how she truly looked, the most beautiful lines of a girl's body were hidden under school robes. Thin, but not that unhealthy, birdlike thin. She shifted in her seat, stretching her long legs. Lean and toned, the legs of a Quidditch player, he could tell from here.

"Oh yes, would you look at that. Now, Tom. What do you really want from this one? Another whiner like Cao? More sex?" Lupus took a giant swig of pumpkin juice and winked at a passing Slytherin girl.

"That was awfully crude…" Abraxas Malfoy snapped.

"Hush, both of you. Let's see Tom work his magic." Rafe Lestrange perched on the edge of the bench and watched the girl with an intent look in his eyes. The other's followed his gaze until the Fortunate Slytherin Five were all watching the girl with the intentness and predatory gaze of a wolf pack.

One of her friends leaned across the table and whispered something and she looked up at them. Two heads went down abruptly and Rafe averted his gaze. Only Tom succeeded in meeting her eyes. They were a startling emerald green, the colour that only the purest gemstones and newest spring buds could achieve. A smile spread across Riddle's lips as she glared at all of them in turn: First Abraxas, then Lupus…Rafe looked up and blew her a kiss. Her friends cackled loudly as she finally came back to Riddle. Her gaze dropped and she turned back to her table and didn't look back over her shoulder once the entire meal.

"Poor form, Lestrange. No wonder your all alone but for an off and on fling." Tom replied, dark eyes still boring a hole into the back of this girls pretty blonde head. Now he was interested: If she'd stared back at him like countless other girls he'd 'dated'(He called it that for lack of a better word.)she would have fallen to Cao's category of the bedded and boring. But she wasn't sheepish, or giggly. She just seemed vaguely…annoyed.

"Oh come on now, Riddle. With you here who would want us? I may as well get my delightful kicks in while I can, eh? Has she looked back over yet?" Rafe laughed, a rich, dangerous kind of laughter.

"No. But I have claim." Tom answered shortly and stared straight at her with a determined look. After a moment he leaned back and returned to picking at his food. Riddle never ate much, especially when he was scheming. For the rest of the week, Riddle watched and calculated. Her name was Maeve Sinclaire, a straightforward, yet still beautiful name. Not some foolish name like Anna-Linda or Daisy or something equally as idiotic and childish. It was one of those delicate names that slid off the tongue well, pleasantly soft and yet sharp to the ear. Maeve Sinclaire. Maeve Sinclaire…


	2. Chapter 2

"Tom?"

"Quiet, Rafe." Tom snapped sharply and turned a page in the tome of wizarding genealogy he was poring over. Sinclaire was a Pureblood surname that (unfortunately) harbored none of the customary scorn for muggles that most exhibited. The Sinclaire's did not, however, condone close muggle/magical relations; so there was still some hope there…

Rafe leaned back in his seat and watched Riddle's determined expression as he flicked through the aged pages of the old book. Rafe worshipped the ground Tom tread upon. He would follow Riddle to hell and back and never complain. Something must have really interested Tom for him to get so hung up on this girls heritage. Tom never did this. It was so atypical Rafe was expecting his handsome friend to suddenly snap the book shut and exclaim what a huge waste of time it was before striding stiff-necked out of the library. But he'd been expecting that reaction for a while, and it still hadn't come.

"What do you want from her?" Rafe tried once more, very tentative. No one bothered Tom when he was this deep in thought unless they wanted to be dismissed from his presence. Riddle deigned to look up from his research for a moment, glittering silver eyes pinning Rafe in place with their steady intensity.

"I assumed my motives were, if not clear, obvious." His tone was colder than a biting winter wind, perfect lips set in a firm line of annoyance.

"So…does she have muggle blood?" Rafe tried again, phrasing the question carefully to avoid another sharp rebuke. Riddle sighed in frustration and stared at the ceiling with a plaintive look. Why must he always be surrounded by people dedicated to playing on his last nerve?

"Would I still be reading the book if she was a mudblood?" Rafe opened his mouth to mutter a sheepish 'no, of course not' but Riddle had already swiped the book off the table and strode over to Madam Harker, the librarian.

"I'd like to check these out please, Madam Harker." Tom smiled sweetly at the middle-aged woman behind the desk. She blushed a brilliant shade of red and returned his smile warmly, enchanted by the seemingly pleasant boy before her.

"Oh, of course, Tom! What are we studying today…Hmm, for History of Magic, I assume?" She gushed, tapping the cover with her wand before making note of something with her quill.

"No, just a little light reading." Tom beamed, the only thing that could have indicated his impatience was how his hands kept balling into tight fists.

"Hello, Lestrange." Madam Harker's face fell and she glared at Rafe, displeased by the appearance of an obvious trouble-maker. "May I help you?"

"Nope, I'll just be on my way. First years to torment, lives to destroy, the usual. Bye, bye now." Rafe turned to go and Riddle cleared his throat loudly and clapped a hand on his friends shoulder. It was a little skit they acted out for every teacher in the building, just to improve Riddle's already spotless reputation with the staff.

"Don't make me report you to Slughorn, Lestrange." Tom reprimanded, his acting so impeccable even the most skilled observer would not have found fault in his sincerity.

"Yes, sir." Rafe said with a fake surliness to his manner. The two boys strode out of the library together before Rafe started to laugh maniacally. Tom's lip curled in distaste, he hated it when the other boy did that. Rafe Lestrange was so certain in his conviction that Tom was his best friend that he frequently made the mistake of actually behaving in comradely fashion. Tom Riddle had no _friends_, andno one knew that better than Tom himself. He did not desire friendship, he desired bestial, physical wants. Domination, control and thousands of dedicated servants…Tom smiled and flipped back to the page titled _Sinclaire_. More immediately, Tom desired her.

~*~

_A great, emerald snake twisted between his fingers as he crooned to it, lips just brushing its arrow shaped head…his hands were fisted in her blonde hair and her emerald eyes dark with lust, their pupils slits…she twisted and shimmied under his fingers, a personification of the snake itself. Her every curve molded against his in a bewitching dance of passionate desire--_

"Tom! Tom! Breakfast, Tom!" Lupus was pulling at the dark green velvet curtains around his four-poster bed, gently shaking Riddle's shoulder. "Come on. You we're talking in your sleep."

Tom struggled with himself for a moment, fighting a strong urge to slap the other boy upside the head. Very few people could get away safely with waking Tom from a dead sleep, and even fewer could get away with waking him from a pleasant dream.

"Kept hissing, mate." Rafe said seriously, pulling on a shirt. Tom straightened up sharply, buckling his belt.

"What did I say?"

"That's it, Tom. You just hissed, didn't say anything-"

"No," Tom snapped exasperatedly. "What did the hissing sound like?"

Rafe stared at him uncertainly for a moment, feeling foolish. He could see Lupus glaring at him from behind Tom, mouthing the words 'I told you so' . Tom's expression tightened sharply and he opened his mouth to demand what the hissing had sounded like, but Rafe made the split second decision and repeated the sound for him:

"_Maeve_." The hissing was horribly garbled, but Tom alone understood it. Maeve. He had, after all, been screaming the name in his dream. However, the fact that he'd spoken it in Parseltongue was a startling development.

"How many times did I say that?"

"Loads. It all kind of ran together." Lupus shrugged, secretly terrified. Said? Why did Tom keep referring to the horrible noises he'd been making as though he'd actually said something? Rafe wasn't as worried, waiting patiently for Tom to get dressed. Tom obviously had reasons for keeping the strange hissing to himself, and he would never intentionally do him harm. Rafe would rather stab himself in the gut then disappoint or insult Riddle, even the thought of that kind of betrayal made him sick.

"Stay here." Tom stood up from their table in the Great Hall and walked across to the Ravenclaw, his expression completely neutral. It hid his excitement, his hunger. She was sitting there completely alone, what fortuitous circumstances. He sat sinuously across from her, ignoring the stares of her house table. She looked up from her book in surprise as he reached over and plucked an apple from the bowl on the table in front of them and held it out to her. It's bright green skin glinted poisonously in the morning light.

"Hello, Sinclaire." He needn't introduce himself, she knew who he was. There was scarcely a student at Hogwarts who _didn't_ know of the famous Tom Marvolo Riddle. What she hadn't known (until it came to her attention a week ago and had been eating at her ever since) was how truly alluring he was. Certainly, girls had spoken of it to her: The incredible charm, the devilishly good looks, the strength and poise…but nothing had prepared her for _this_. It was like being beaten over the head with a bludger. He was overwhelmingly all she'd been told, down to the vicious half-smirk. It was like staring into the beguiling eyes of a swaying cobra. Tom's smiled widened and he gently proffered the apple once more. "Go on, take it. I wont bite."

"Thanks." She mindlessly reached out and took the apple. As soon as her fingers had closed around it, Riddle snatched her wrist, startling her so badly she nearly dropped the fruit. He brought her knuckles to his lips before releasing her hand. All the while, his eyes never left hers.

"Don't we have Herbology together? I've seen you before in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, haven't I?" His voice was like honey being poured from a silver goblet. This must be what wizards felt like when they met their first veela. Her heart fluttered as she struggled to think up the coherent answer.

"I-thin-no, we do." She said firmly, she felt like such an idiot. I think. Nobody said 'I think' to Tom Riddle. She stared furiously at the apple in her hands, determined not to meet his eyes for fear she wouldn't be able to stop looking. Tom waited for her to say something, usually the shy ones would speak to him after a moment, allow him to take them under his wing…but she would not speak. Well, that was an awkward silence he hadn't anticipated. He reached out and gently chucked her under the chin, Tom would forever remember that simple gesture as the first time he ever really touched Maeve Sinclaire. She looked up at him, exposing her white neck and staring up into his dark gray eyes.

"You should eat that, you know. An apple a day keeps the doctor away." He recited, waiting for the tiny smile to curve the corners of her lips. He looked back over his shoulder at his posse, Lupus was starting some sort of massive havoc with Caoinin, who looked ready to kill him. Rafe sat there and calmly picked at his food, waiting like a patient dog for his masters return.

"I should go before my house starts a riot. Goodbye." And with that, Tom Riddle stood and left her gawking after him, completely shell-shocked.


	3. Chapter 3

_"It is absurd to divide people into either good or bad. People are either charming or tedious." **~ Oscar Wilde**_

It was two weeks of purposefully avoiding each other before they spoke again. Tom avoided her because this is how he got most girls interested, like dangling a lure in front of a fish. Yes, he was well aware the childishness of such tactics, but that did not negate the fact that they _worked, _and as long as they kept working, he would stick by them. Maeve avoided him because she'd noticed his evasion of her and thought that she'd made such a colossal fool of herself that he was no longer interested. _As though he'd been interested in the first place, _she scoffed at herself. _Tom Riddle, the Slytherin God…I'm such an idiot!_ Never let it be said that the teenage mind is a simple thing.

Tom was the first to snap. He _wanted_ this one, and she wasn't coming to him. The dreams proved to be reoccurring and intense. Never before had he dreamed of a girl with such vividness and clarity…no, clarity was the wrong word. In fact, it was an extreme lack of clarity. The dreams were lucid and passionate, but clouded by a vagueness that he couldn't place. It was a perfected version of Maeve, always with her dark green snake eyes and vicious wildness. It was Maeve as she could be.

He looked up from his Transfiguration notes and stared over at her. Her blonde hair fell in a sheet over one shoulder, partially hiding her face from view. Frustrated and bored, Riddle stood up and snapped his book shut. Shouldering his bag he walked over to the armchair she was curled up in and sat across from her, setting down his things with a thump.

She looked up carelessly before returning to her book, only to snap back up and stare at him with a horrified expression. Oh no. Her mouth felt dry and she gawked back at him, trying to collect herself. Tom took advantage of her speechlessness and spoke:

"Sinclaire. You weren't in Transfiguration today."

"I wasn't? I mean, yes! I had to take care of a Hippogriff for CMC…extra credit to make up for some missed work…when I hurt my wrist…in Quidditch." She blurted, once again feeling like a complete and total idiot. Actually, she hadn't had a single assignment missed and the injury to her wrist had been pitifully minor(Athough Orpheus had suffered a small panic attack over the whole thing, whatever that was about. Boys, what strange beings they were.). She just hadn't wanted to go to class and see _him_. Professor Dumbledore had given her leave to go down and help out with some of the magical creatures. It was good for her, kept her mind off Tom. She was damn near positive that was the only reason Dumbledore had allowed her to skip class: Tom Riddle.

"You missed an interesting lesson." He said simply, dark eyes boring into hers.

"Did I?" A little bit of true disappointment made its way past her high, nervous tone. She hated missing Transfiguration, it was her best subject. Tom smiled, so there _was _something he could use as bait. He reached into his bag and held out his sheaf of notes.

"Oh! You don't have to-"

"Exactly. I want to trade." Maeve shut up immediately and blinked. He couldn't mean that. "Stop avoiding me and we'll be even."

"I thought you preferred it if _I_ did avoid you." Maeve made no attempt to lie. Riddle was probably deceitful enough to tell and she had no evidence to the contrary. He hadn't been expecting her immediate honesty and it threw him for a moment.

"Of course not, why ever would I want _you _to avoid me? Besides, Professor Dumbledore's been keeping an annoyingly close watch on me today. He always does, but this time, its personal…" Tom shut his mouth sharply. Had he just been _rambling_? About his concealed loathing for his Transfiguration Professor? Damn! Stupid! Acting too eager to capture this prey that so cunningly(and yet so innocently) eluded him, what was wrong with him?

"Deal, I wont avoid you." She gently took the notes from him and pulled out her wand, conjuring a table to set her work on. She started to copy down the notes, taking the tip of her wand and touching it to a page before transferring the neatly written script to her own papers. She frowned as she read some of the notes, this had been an important lesson.

"I expect Dumbledore will want you to make up the class with him…despite all of this." Tom waved his hands at the notes and patiently waited for her to say something. And waited. "Sinclaire."

"Sorry?" She looked up at him with those bright green eyes and he clenched a fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.

"I could tutor you…just until you've caught up, of course." It sounded less like a question and more like a command. It exuded only a fraction of the simpering charm normally reserved for the female sex. _I'm slipping,_ Tom thought, frustrated. _If I come on too strong too suddenly she'll-_

"I don't know…I promised I'd make up the class with Dumbledore later tonight…" Maeve backpedaled wildly, trying to figure out a way to escape Riddle's clutches. He was too intimidating to be around, the lies he told were so convincing…and that's what made him dangerous. _Shy away from me._ Riddle finished his thought and groaned inwardly at his own stupidity.

"I'm sure you don't need Dumbledore to teach you this, Sinclaire. Besides, you're a Ravenclaw. Naturally bright and exceedingly clever. Let me help you." He purred, reaching out to lay a cool hand on hers. She jerked a little and he firmly caught her wrist and watched her intently. Frightened, and rightly so. She seemed to have much more common sense than they normally did. She wasn't swooning, nor was she teasing. It seemed all she wanted to do was get away. Tom fixed his most friendly and inviting smile in place, challenges were so much more fun. "Please? I promise not to throw myself at you tonight. We could even come up and study in this library or in your own common room if you're more comfortable-"

"No, it's fine. I'll do-study what-wherever you want." Maeve caught herself sharply. It was terrifying, he was speaking of the most innocent things and not forcing anything upon her and she'd nearly said(entirely of her own volition) 'I'll do whatever you want_'. With those lips,_ she thought giddily, _who needs the Imperius curse?_

"It is not necessary to make allowances for me, Sinclaire. You'll focus best where you're comfortable." Tom replied smoothly, eager to worm his way into what looked like a chink in her armor. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles and reluctantly allowed her to take her hand back.

"Library." She blurted, cringing at the thought of a silently appalled Ravenclaw common room. Tom leaned back in the armchair across from her and laughed. It was a high, full and frightening sound that startled her.

"Ah, no love lost between eagles and snakes. So, it's a date then. I'll meet you here after dinner. Ta ta, Sinclaire ." He chuckled throatily, his eyes taking on a feral gleam as he turned from her. Mmm, a little Ravenclaw for dessert was just what he needed to make this the perfect day.

~*~

Tom stalked up and down the library aisles, hunting for her. She had consented (after all that idiotic and time-wasting finagling) to meet him in library right after supper. The meal had been interesting, to say the least. Neither of them had eaten much for fear they'd miss they other eyeing them. But in Tom's case, the knowledge hadn't ruffled him in the least. Maeve wasn't one to handle pressure well…

She was careening through the hallways, having completely forgotten about the rendezvous until reaching Ravenclaw tower. Now, she was fifteen minutes late! He'd be furious…and now she'd deserve his disdain…she tried to hold back the miserable feeling rising in her chest. He was the one and only boy who'd ever shone an outward interest in her that she returned in any way.

"I'm here!" She gasped as she skidded to a halt in front of Madam Harker. The woman peered at her over the rim of her eye-glasses and made a soft tutting noise, the jealousy rolling off her in waves. _That's odd,_ Maeve thought. _What have I done to her?_

"Envy." The silkily whispered word made her jump, so terrified she nearly knocked over a bookcase. Tom reached out a hand to steady her, surprised by the abrupt reaction. His white fingers clutched her shoulder as she righted herself clumsily. "One of the seven deadly sins."

"You cant be serious." She muttered breathlessly, shocked by how cold his hand was through her shirt. "Why would she envy me?"

"Why wouldn't she? You are young, pretty and have a propensity for being fashionably late, love." He slid his arm around her shoulders and steered her until they were in the furthest corner of the library, between the restricted section and the advanced classes shelves. There was a wide space between the two, to prevent students sneaking off unnoticed into the less frequented restricted shelves.

Maeve watched Riddle turn and face her, his dark eyes intense and fixed on her own. _Apologize for being late, it was a stupid thing to forget._ She thought, the breaths catching in her throat, dizzy and nervous. Not one of the girls who'd she'd spoken with about Tom had ever described having this feeling around him. This deep and instinctive fear. And yet she was angry with herself: Stupid thing to feel about some _boy_; she was a pureblood, descended from the strongest magical lineage. She was a powerful witch and she would _not _fear him like this! And she certainly wouldn't apologize to him for being late.

"Let's get on with this, Riddle. Transfiguring-"

"It's more conjuring than it is transfiguring, actually." He corrected, leaning casually against a bookcase and flipping through the notes. He wasn't actually reading any of them, just casually flipping. In one hand, he held his wand and her's. How did he get it?! She'd had it just a moment ago in the pocket of her…how had she not noticed that? "Transfigure is to change the appearance and to conjure is to-"

"Create the appearance from thin air, yes, I know. Can I have my wand back?" Honestly, she wasn't stupid! He looked up at her and grinned, tossing her wand.

"So, with the correct movement, you should be able to-" He blinked in surprise as she swept her wand in an elegant arc and a single, beautiful white rose appeared. It was perfect, not transparent or wispy like some of his classmate's frail attempts. The petals still glistened with a morning dew, their soft fragrance perfuming the air. He reached down and picked it up, pressing the delicate bloom to his nose and smiling. She was talented then, all the better.

"So?" She asked, looking to him for approval. She should just relax, Tom was just another boy. An attractive boy, yes, but just a boy.

"I think you've been practicing, young viper." He swept his own wand through the air and produced a similar bloom, only the petals were the deepest, darkest blood crimson. He held it out to her, proud of the look of admiration on her face.

"Young viper?" She asked, curious as she took the red rose from him.

"As opposed to young grasshopper." Tom clarified, rolling the stem of the white rose between his fingers. So pure was the colour, like virgin snow.

"I'm proud of you Riddle, that was almost a joke." She laughed, a purely joyous sound that surprised him. Most girl's laughter was high and chuntering, irritating to the extreme. But she had a musical, full sounding laugh; the laugh of a fully-grown woman and not some young chit.

"Riddle? Can you tell me something?" She mumbled into the red petals, light at the tips and then darkening to carmine satin as it reached the stem.

"That depends on what it is…" He said carefully, a guarded expression on his face.

"Are we…are we friends? Or whatever it is that we're supposed to be? Acquaintances?" She was clearly dodging the obvious intent.

"We are…hmm." Tom thought for a moment. Friends? No, Tom didn't have friends, he didn't need them. Acquaintance's were worthless… "I would like us to be more than friends, but I'm sure you knew that."

"Yes, I want-Ow!" She gasped and dropped the rose with a cry.

"Sinclaire?" He reached for her shoulders as she clutched her right hand, a bead of blood welling on the pad of her finger.

"I'm fine, I just pricked myself on a thorn." She winced, sticking her fingertip in her mouth and sucking. There was a smear of blood across her lips, a tantalizing ruby glitter. Tom reached down and picked up his rose, touching the thorn that glistened crimson in the lamplight.

"Ahem." Tom jerked and his finger slipped so he pricked himself, their blood mingling on the stem of the delicate plant.

"Professor Dumbledore," Maeve sounded as startled as Tom felt. She reached for the notes and held them up, smiling innocently. "Riddle offered to help me catch up on the lesson I missed today."

"I see. How is it coming along?" Dumbledore asked in a tone that made it clear exactly how much he saw and precisely how much he wished he wasn't seeing. Maeve reached down and picked up the white rose, handing it to the transfiguration professor, her proud smile genuine. Tom noticed, with a certain wonder, how her rose was utterly thorn-free. Dumbledore couldn't help but smile at his prized pupil's handiwork.

"Very good, Ms. Sinclaire. Purely free of any outside influence-" Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze darted to Tom's for a moment. "-and as delicately wrought as a jewel with special attention to detail. Excellent, but it is best to take into account that not all nature's creations are perfect. Every rose has his thorns, hmm?"

"_It's _thorns, Professor." Maeve corrected as he handed her back her pure white rose. Dumbledore frowned slightly and nodded.

"Quite right, you must forgive me. Well, carry on and don't let me disturb you." He walked off humming merrily, seemingly innocuous once more. Tom let out the breath he'd been holding in a harsh sounding hiss that sent a shiver down Maeve's spine.

"Sinclaire?" He asked between gritted teeth, watching Dumbledore's retreating back.  
"Yes?" She answered, coming up beside him.

"I'm afraid I have to bid you adieu early tonight. I've got a potions essay I forgot about…" He murmured, slinging his bag over a shoulder. He heard the sigh from behind him and turned, raising an eyebrow.

"I _am _a Ravenclaw, you know." She muttered primly, holding the two roses in her right hand and breathing in there scent. "And I've seen you with Slughorn, you could probably miss a thousand essays and he wouldn't care."

"That doesn't mean I should take advantage of my favour with the professors…" On a sudden impulse, he grinned devilishly at her and continued. "Though I hear the Ravenclaw's are particularly notorious for such behavior, hmm?"

"Huh," Maeve muttered disapprovingly, her lip curling. "I've seen you around Madam Harker, you certainly don't mind taking advantage of her good favour, Riddle."

"Ah, now you're straying from the subject at hand." He frowned slightly, looking up to see her packing away her things. The subtle sway of her lissome body as she stood up, the cascade of golden hair as she ran one delicate white hand through it. The pretty, soft lips that parted temptingly as she heaved a sigh. Then, the frustratingly high collar of her white shirt and crisp, bronze-on-blue tie.

"Well, good-aaoh!" He caught her around the waist before she get within sight of anyone else, tugging her behind a shelf. He stared her down, looking into those gorgeous green eyes. Oh, he wanted her, with such a keen intensity it made him ache. _Patience_!

"Fine. I'm lying about the potions essay, of course. But Sinclaire…knowing my rather voracious appetite as I'm sure you do-" He leaned in close, the tip of his nose gliding across her jaw bone. She moved her head, but did not struggle. "Do you really trust me past nine-o'clock? Because-" He sighed into her throat and pulled away. "-I don't trust myself not to tackle you, understood?"

"I think I could fend you off." She murmured breathlessly, eyelids fluttering. He chuckled and stroked her throat with his fingers, tracing the vein.

"Hmm, temptation is a dangerous game, young viper. But luckily, I'm willing to teach it to you." He laughed and turned his back on her, smiling to himself. "Goodnight, Sinclaire."


	4. Chapter 4

_"I'm so clever that sometimes I dont undertsand a word of what I'm saying."_ _**~Oscar Wilde**_

(Yes, I know, the last two quotes were Oscar Wilde...I cant help it if the mans a genius and we share a similiar sense of humour. Promise I'll try to diversify a bit though, just for you guys, lol.)

"When are you going to move in for the kill?"

"What?" Tom snapped in irritation, barely able to hear Rafe over the combined racket of Professor Slughorn's loud snores and the chittering of the insufferable little Gryffindors. Damn them all!

"The blonde one," Lupus whined, looking rather resentfully in Tom's direction. "The one you called dibs on."

"What Black means to say is: When are you planning to properly lay claim to that one? Because Malfoy and I both know that Lupus would _never _attempt to encroach on your territory prematurely, would he?" Rafe cast Black his most severe glare as Abraxas chuckled dangerously from beside the cowed boy, lips curved in a vicious grin.

"Patience is a virtue that you all seem to lack, and intelligence one that seems to have completely skipped you, Black, in particular. Sinclaire is timid and therefore requires more time to get used to the idea.

"But Edith was fine with it-"

"Edith was very, very stupid-"

"Not unlike you, Black." Abraxas cut in, slapping Rafe a high five. Tom shot them a sharp look, lips pressed together tightly.  
"Sorry." They apologized quickly, dropping their eyes. Interruption was a lapse heavily frowned upon in Riddle's school of thought.

"As I was saying, Lupus, listen carefully because I will not repeat myself to you, Edith was rather dim-witted. Given that circumstance, it was rather easy to convince her to follow me into the Room of Requirement. Her retribution is also nonexistent, due to the fact that she is also a disgusting little Hufflepuff and secretly believes that I will one day be sick of sleeping with every prized female and return to her. She is, of course, mistaken. But who am I to fault her for her ignorance as long as it remains harmless, hmm?"

"Uh…I understand!" A smile split Lupus's face as the meaning of Tom's speech dawned on him.

"So, when do you anticipate the foreplay to cease to be such?" Abraxas phrased the question more cleanly then the others, relishing the envious glances they shot him as Tom replied:

"That is dependent upon a variety of factors, but very soon. Now all of you, shut up. Slughorn appears to have revived from whatever you slipped into his afternoon fire whiskey, Rafe. Your dosage fell short of it's mark." The biting comment made on Rafe's usually exceptional potion mixing skills effectively shut up the trio. To be fair, Slughorn was probably developing an immunity to sleeping draught. But being fair to his minions(especially those who interrupted his internal scheming) was not on Riddle's list of priorities at the moment. His temper was short today and the comment that Maeve's seduction was going slowly only served to irritate him further. Because it _was._ Dodging him at every turn and then glancing at him longingly when she thought he wasn't looking. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was leading him along instead of the opposite. He chuckled quietly, now _that _was impossible.

He just needed to catch her alone, force her into a kind of intimate position in which she'd catch herself, and save him the trouble. Ah, that was important. She needed to think that she was in control. Therein lay the key: he needed to outfox a fox. Hmm, easy now that he'd put some thought into it. His grin caught the attention of Rafe, who leaned over to speak out of the corner of his mouth.

"Tom, what is it?"

"I think…that I'm going to pay our dear Edith and her barely serviceable brain a little visit."

Maeve strode to the edge of the swimming-pool sized tub and stripped off her heavy school robes, hopping around on one foot as she pulled off her sox. Completely nude, she pulled her hair from its braid and switched off the water faucets; sinking slowly into the warm water until she was utterly submerged. She waited for a moment before resurfacing, whipping her blonde hair back so it slapped against the marble edge and sighing, completely relaxed.

"Comfortable?" Her eyes snapped open and she gasped and spun around to see Tom Riddle leaning against one of the blue marble columns. He looked happier than she'd ever seen him.

"How did you get in here?" Maeve stared at him aghast, finally managing to shut her mouth. Riddle strode to the edge of the pool and raised an eyebrow, his grin getting even wider. This was so much better than he'd imagined. He loosened his tie and spoke slowly:

"Depends on who you…persuade." His lips pulled back over his teeth in a smile. All it had taken him was a a chat with small-minded Edith to discover the password. Tom smiled at the thought, that girl was easy by every conceivable definition. Maeve shuddered and decided she'd rather not know. Tom yanked off his tie and dropped his heavy robes aside, unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?" She asked abruptly, amassing soapy foam to cover her nakedness like a country trying to defend itself from a siege. Riddle started to laugh and shrugged out of the tight collared shirt, his pale chest bare. He was muscular and yet sleek, his physique pure perfection.

"Joining you." He unbuckled his belt.

"Alright…I have to go." She swam to the other side of the pool and stared at him, her eyes huge. Yet, she didn't get out, he was still watching her. Was he going to look away? She doubted it.

"Oh, come! Don't give me that look!" Tom muttered, raising an eyebrow.

"What look? I'm not giving you any look." She protested weakly, covering her eyes with her hands as he jumped in. He swam under water for a moment before resurfacing, shaking his hair from side to side so it fell in wet tendrils across his forehead.

"The half-drowned, terrified owlet look." Tom rolled his eyes and spoke: "I'm not interested in _that_, yet. I'm interested in _you_."

"How much sex has that line bought you?" She muttered under her breath.

"Quite a lot, actually. But I am sincere this time." Tom tried once more, swimming a little closer. He noticed her trembling in the warm water and kept his distance. A three foot radius should be suitable to allay any fears.

"So…tell me about yourself, Sinclaire." He yawned and stretched lazily, leaning back against the marble edge of the tub.

"What do you want to know?" Maeve tried to stop her voice from quavering and swam a little bit further away from him. Tom compensated for the lost distance, stopping exactly three feet away once more.

"You are a direct descendent of the Sinclaire line, are you not?" He prodded, cupping his hands and splashing water over his face. Maeve ogled him blankly for a moment, her mouth wide open. She was sharing a bath with a _god._ Tom pretended not to notice and washed his hair, patiently waiting for the answer.

"Yes. My mother was a pure Malfoy and my father carries the pure Sinclaire blood of the family." She rushed to answer, realizing she'd spent nearly a minute unashamedly admiring him.

"It shows." Riddle responded and looked up at her.

"Thank you." She met his eyes when he said that and smiled proudly. She'd stopped trembling finally, all that was visible above the water was her white shoulders and the tops of her arms. Her blonde hair fell to the water and her lashes lay across her high cheek bones, green eyes watching the clear surface of the pool. _Absolutely sublime_.He thought, inching a little closer.

"Ah," Riddle was slightly nearer now, smiling slightly. "I'm glad you weren't offended by such a complement. Some would consider it an affront, something like calling you 'inbred'. For example, those-"

"Sickeningly Weasley's?" She spat the name from her delicate lips with such vehement force that Tom looked around to see who else had joined them in the bathroom. Maeve glared at some point slightly above his shoulder, her face contorted in a grimace of disgust. "Muggle-loving fools. For awhile, my mother had me act politely toward them in hopes of enticing our families a little closer…Simply to keep the pureblood flowing." She made another face of distaste here. Riddle had to agree, nothing would have been more repulsive than being married off to one of those highly unattractive, freckly fools. The thought gave him an irrational urge to throttle the life out of any of them that even looked at Maeve. "She figured we could stamp out the muggle-worship after a few generations. But they…"

And at this point she started to shake with anger. Tom was utterly enthralled, she was incredible! He found himself longing to reach out and take her slender body into his arms and comfort her. Do more than comfort her…He gritted his teeth. _Patience_! Tom longed to hear what the Weasley's had done to so enrage this shy, rare thing.

"What did they do?" He asked softly, edging closer still.

"The oldest one…scorned me. They called me an inbred fanatic. The Weasley's refused to speak with me or have any association with my family. Blood traitors!" She snapped sullenly, jumping when she realized Tom was barely an arms-length away now. It was like watching a startled birds feathers go sleek with fear. The great eagle was gone, replaced once more by the trembling, wet, little owlet.

Tom crept a little closer, waiting for her to shrink away. Maeve did not step away from him, did not attempt to put the distance she knew should be maintained between them. It was terrifying to be paralyzed by his dark gaze, and at the same time exhilarating. It was the same feeling she got during Quidditch, the same heady thrill of throwing yourself onto the handle of your broom and racing down towards the earth like a bullet…at any moment now, she would have to pull up before the terror overcame the joy. She would have to pull up or she would crash.

Tom reached out tentatively and brushed his fingers across her jaw bone. She shuddered as his fingertips slid down her neck and over her pounding pulse, tracing her collarbone…she jerked away from him and flung herself out of the bath, modesty be damned. She snatched a towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself tightly. Tom swam to the edge of the pool and watched the proceedings calmly. Maeve looked this way and that, she could have sworn her clothing was right by the edge of the pool…

"I am certainly aware of the appalling cliché, however…" Tom smiled slyly and held up a bundle. "Looking for these?"

"You-I-Give those back!" She sputtered hopelessly, her expression pained. Oh, why? Why?! She'd just wanted a nice, relaxing bath. Instead, she'd gotten an unnervingly intimate confrontation. Oh, she'd never been more mortified in her entire life! It was all very well for Maeve Sinclaire to curse the Weasley family for being a bunch of ignorant's, but then to be too embarrassed and afraid to even be alone in the same room as a boy. _He must think I'm such an innocent little fool!_ She wanted to sit down and cry.

"Why should I give you these back?" Tom asked lazily, holding the clothes barely above water-level while he examined them. He pulled out her bra and dangled it from one finger as she gawked at him in absolute horror.

"Because I need them to get back to my common room and to go the match tomorrow!" Maeve squeaked, blushing a vibrant red. Why did he have to torture her like this? What did he _want_? And why, _why _did he have to keep swinging the bra over his head like it was a pennant of victory?

"I think you're confusing the words _need_ and _want_. For example, you want to leave this bathroom. You also want to remain Prefect and the envy of your peers. These wants are unachievable if you are to march out of this bathroom wrapped in that tiny little postage stamp towel. Now, what you actually _need_ is a calming bath and some intellectual conversation. Everything else is an immaterial waste of precious time." Tom spoke calmly, fitting her tie over his neck and admiring it. This was a gamble on his part, never had he needed to persuade a girl with irrefutable and circumspect logic. Removing his shirt or smiling usually did the trick, but Maeve was a special case. If it was in her nature to accept intelligent reasoning(As he assumed it should be, she was a Ravenclaw, after all.), his statement would at least allay her nervousness.

"What I _need_ is some sleep, thanks." She marched over to where he'd casually dumped his clothes and knelt, her heart thundering as she picked up his thin, white shirt and clutched it to her chest. Tom blinked in surprise. Well, that hadn't been a move he was anticipating from _her_. Surely, Caoinin had pulled it many a time on him, but it had always been a erotic gesture. Maeve was doing so out of sheer desperation.

"I don't have to be a Ravenclaw to see the flaws in that plan." He replied, watching her turn her back and slide her arms through. The unbuttoned cuffs tickled her wrists and she shakily buttoned the front. It was unbearable to be so out of her depth. Tom Riddle was an 'accomplished' boy and until tonight, she'd never seen anyone other than a few of her Quidditch teammates and her younger brother(who didn't count by any stretch of the imagination)without a shirt on. Until Riddle, no boy had shown an outward interest in being anymore than friends. Until damned Tom Riddle, she'd never known what a blessing and a curse it was. She had no idea how to be seductive or how to calmly and coolly reject an offer. Desperate to be free, she turned and searched for his pants.

"I know those wont fit you." He pointed out, feeling an odd emptiness where the pleasure of his psychological warfare should have been blossoming. "Sinclaire? Please listen to me, Sinclaire."

"What?" She gasped shakily, collapsing into a sitting position and burying her head in her hands.

"If you want something, what do you do?" He asked simply, patiently waiting for the answer. When it came, her voice was thick with tears:

" I ask for it."

"Therein lies your problem: If you want something, you should go out and get it. You are worth more than asking, you are above asking. If you come here and take these clothes from my hands, they're yours and you can leave. No tricks. All you have to do is enter this bath and take what you want…" She was already riffling through his clothes again. Anything but jumping back into that bath and getting close to Tom Riddle. "By the way, if you really want those pants; your going to have to come and take them off me."

"But your-I thought-" She slapped a hand to her forehead. She was so, so naive. Tom sighed and got out of the bath. He knew just how far he could push a girl before she burst into tears and swore eternal hatred of him.

Maeve stared at him with unveiled admiration, her mouth open wide. Certainly, you'd have to be blind not to see that Tom Riddle was strikingly handsome. The feelings that the sight of him elicited were altogether unfamiliar in her, the thrill and the strange tingly warmth that made her heart pound. Water droplets rolled off the flat planes of his white, muscular chest and glittered like diamonds through his dark hair. His long, lean body as he stepped out of the pool. His pointed chin and sharp jawbones. The dark, gray eyes that were now staring straight into hers with unabashed desire...She sucked in a sharp breath and dropped her gaze, unable to deal with the sudden intensity of the situation.

Tom watched her gaze flick to the floor to stare at his feet. His shirt clung to her slightly damp form no matter how much she tugged at it. The white hem tickled halfway down her thighs where she clutched at the thing and tried to bring it down as far as possible. Maeve's golden blonde hair lay over her shoulders in wet tendrils, still dripping water. Her pleasantly shaped lips were pulled into a grim line and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"If you want something, take it." Tom spoke evenly, trying to restrain the intense urge to grab her once she got within range. The double meaning in that sentence rang clear: If you want these clothes, come and take them. If you want me, come and take me.

Maeve took her steps cautiously, feeling as though she were jelly-leg jinxed. Then, she reached out and tentatively plucked the clothing from his arms. Tom fixed her with a calm yet intent gaze and for a moment, felt a horrible, stabbing discomfort in his chest.

"I'm sorry." The words were out of his mouth before he could even process the feeling, as sudden and as involuntary as blinking. As the guilt lessened, he realized how foolish and weak the apology sounded and anger replaced the remorse. Anger at his own weakness. Maeve watched his expression change from one of guilt to one of fury and winced.

"Goodnight, Sinclaire." His farewell was so abrupt and anticlimactic that it rendered her speechless. She watched mutely as he strode over and snatched up his robes, shrugging into them. "Keep the shirt." And with that parting phrase, Tom Riddle left Maeve standing alone and troubled in the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

_"For beauty is nothing_

_but the beginning of terror we can just barely endure,_

_And we admire it so because it calmly disdains to destroy us." **~ Rainer Maria Rilke**_

"Abraxas Malfoy! Get back to the common room before I hex you into oblivion!" Tom was in a foul temper as he sneered at the pale blonde fifth year who scurried off, dragging Athelia Nott behind him. When a prefect told you to shove off(and especially when that prefect was Tom Riddle), you ran for it. Tom strode along behind them, his stiff strides getting quicker by the moment. "MOVE!"

There was a particularly loud bang and a shriek of pain and the two Slytherin's ran full-pelt down the corridor nearly slamming into the entrance to Slytherin common: A bare patch of nondescript, damp stone wall. Abraxas dithered frantically for a moment, not daring to enter into the common room without Tom yet frightened by letting him get close enough to get another hex in.

"_Today_, Malfoy." Riddle growled, drawing his wand from his pocket.

"_Pure-blood_!" Athelia saved her cohort from where he was perched precariously upon the brink of Tom's good graces and a door emerged from the wall and slid open, allowing them inside.

"Go up to your dormitories." Tom spoke loudly to the common at large, aiming his wand at the ceiling and making the lamps rattle.

"Things go badly with Sinclaire?" Rafe called casually back, ignorant of the boys fury.

"Not you, Rafe. Stay put."

Riddle calculated his chances of gaining any useful information or rounding up a few of his followers(he counted none of them as friends, they simply suffered from delusions of grandeur) to solve the latest problem. The Ravenclaw girl a problem? No, he couldn't allow them to know that. He had to be more subtle.

"Goyle, Crabbe, Malfoy, Black." The boys turned to him eagerly, awaiting what would no doubt be another of Riddle's famous plots.

"I need you three to keep an eye on Sinclaire for me. She's far more useful than I anticipated. Keep her out of trouble, watch her. If she so much as sneezes I want to know about it."

"Black, Lestrange you serve as my informats. Crabbe, Goyle keep her from stirring up too much trouble and if she does take care of it. Subtlety is of the utmost importance. Malfoy, keep a close watch on any boy who approaches her." Tom's eyes took on an excited glint. There must have been something he'd overlooked in his estimation of this girl, she must have some importance to him that he wasn't grasping fully. He'd figure out what it was, what was stopping him from dispatching her just as he had all the other pretty faces. But for now he needed an alibi, lest the fools think he was enamored of a girl: "She seems to hold the same disdain for muggles as we do, her intelligence could prove a vital weapon." A patchy explanation, but it would do for now. After all, it wasn't like any of these boys were rocket scientists.

"Great. When do we start?" Rafe stood up and stretched, grinning broadly.

"Immediately." Riddle replied shortly, turning on his heel. It was their dismissal and they took the hint, slinking off to their dormitory together.

"Something's eating Riddle, mark my words." Lupus muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. Abraxas nodded gravely, his blonde head bombing up and down in the gloom.

"He hasn't had a good lay in ages, that's his problem. He's bitten off more than he can chew taking on a swot like that blonde." Rafe snapped, worried about Tom. He'd rarely seen the other boy lose his temper like that.

"He was agitated tonight, you could tell."

"Keep your mouths shut! He hears us and you know how he gets…cold and silent." Garth Goyle shuddered, his tremendous shoulders quaking.

"Never angry…just cold." Alistair Crabbe nodded in agreement and glared thuggishly at Lupus and Abraxas.

"He was awfully short with me in the hall-"

"You're always skulking around, Malfoy. Of course he was short with you-" And then the boys conversation turned to lighter subjects as they marched off into to the cool, dark, dungeon tunnels.

~*~

_An eagle shrieked with fear, beating it's wings uselessly against the tightening coils of a large serpent. The sharp beak stretched open as it panted for breath and the glittering dark eyes of the serpent narrowed as it squeezed, tighter and tighter. Cruel talons clenched part of the serpents thick, muscular body and beads of ruby blood welled between the toes. She was strangling! She tried to fill her lungs with air but his hands were around her neck, his black slit pupils wide with lust as a forked tongue tickled her throat. She could not think, she could not see and she was falling out of the air and into blackness…_

"Maeve! Honey! Maeve! Easy, sweetie!" Maeve's eyes burst open and she pulled at the silver and green striped tie around her neck, gasping for tortured breaths. She'd become entangled in the sheets because of her thrashing and the tie was choking her. Her room-mate, Abigail, stood over her with a horrified expression on her face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm…fine." Maeve panted, trying to stop shaking and untangle herself. Abigail leaned over and fingered the tie with a skeptical look.

"Whose tie is this?"

"Huh?"

"It's a Slytherin tie, Maeve."

"Must have gotten mixed up in the laundry." Maeve mumbled, embarrassed. Abigail raised an eyebrow and then smiled slyly.

"Fine, keep your secrets. Better get up soon, breakfast." And she swept out of the room without a word.

Maeve descended the stairs to the common room sleepily, holding a brush in her hand. The silver and green tie was still around her neck, though she'd changed into her own uniform. She was so tired that at first, she didn't notice how the entire common room had gone suspiciously quiet at her arrival, watching her intently. She poured herself a cup of tea and finally realized.

"What?"

"Nothing." Katelyn Boot muttered and continued copying down her script for ancient runes, everyone else returned to their typical morning activities. It was a couple of minutes later that she turned back to Maeve, a blasé expression on her face. "Don't forget you've got the Quidditch match today."

"Bloody hell." Maeve groaned and sprinted for her dormitory and yanking on her Quidditch robes. She bolted for the door and dashed down the spiral staircase. She didn't stop running until she'd plunked herself down across from the Ravenclaw beaters, Barnaby and Ralph. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, she didn't notice Orpheus Grisham's eager look her way.

" About time you got down here. We've been waiting for you for ages." Barnaby gave her a very imperious look. She was shoveling oatmeal into her mouth and didn't notice his expression but nodded vigorously whilst dragging a brush through her hair.

"She seems to be naturally predisposed to lateness." Maeve choked sharply on her mouthful of cold oatmeal and toast. Oh no. Tom patted her on the back gently as she muscled her way past the gag reflex and forced herself to swallow.

"Like you're naturally predisposed to cheating?" Grisham spoke up, glaring at the dark eyes that appraised him. Maeve felt Tom's long fingers tense on her back as he slid onto the bench next to her. Tom was careful to make sure his knee touched her own, his side pressed gently against hers.

"We prefer the term 'strategizing with the intent to win at all costs'. Hello, Sinclaire. " Rafe replied smoothly and took the seat on the other side of Maeve.

"Hello, Lestrange." She muttered in a very strained tone of voice. Grisham did not look content to allow the subject to drop, however.

"Last time I checked, you had your own house table, Riddle."

"Whatever have I done to you, Grisham? Is this about house tables, or something else?" Maeve's entire body went rigid as Tom wrapped one arm around her waist and leaned in so he could inhale her scent. Maeve could not bring herself to push him away. She should have, he was using her to get Grisham x. But she just _couldn't. _

"Tom, please-" She muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Orpheus exploded.  
"Get your hands off her, you snake!" Ralph and Barnaby grabbed his arms as he lunged towards Riddle, who'd yanked Maeve away and behind him as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather. She was too surprised to do much more than stare in horror at the scene unfolding before her.

"Grisham, mate, calm down!"

"He's not worth it!"

"Oh, I assure you I am very worth it." Tom said coldly, glaring.

"Is there a problem here?" Professor Dumbledore stood over them, a placid expression on his face. It was barely perceptible, but Maeve felt Riddle shrink back a bit. Grisham slumped back into his seat with a mutinous expression. "Mr. Riddle, please release Ms. Sinclaire and return to your table."

"Yes, Professor."

"Wait!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Professor Dumbledore's keen glance was lost to her as she reached out, the green and silver tie lying across her palm. "You left it…in the library."

"Oh, yes. The library." Tom smiled like a Cheshire cat and stretched forth his close fist. He slowly opened his fingers and the bronze and blue tie fell into her palm with the barest noise. His smile made him look deranged as his white fingers caressed her wrist in the subtlest movement as he plucked his tie from her hands. "Thank you, Sinclaire. Good luck in the match today, Grisham. May the best man win."

"Shove off." Grisham snapped, glaring at him. "And stay away from my team!"

"Hmm. Ms. Sinclaire?" Dumbledore watched Riddle leave with a ponderous expression.

"Yes, Professor." Maeve ducked her head in horror.

"See to it that you keep your things from falling into Mr. Riddle's possession, would you? It is…profoundly unwise to trust him, especially this late in the Quidditch season, don't you think?" Dumbledore murmured, looking down at her with the gaze of a hawk. She bowed her head, a shock of gold falling into her eyes.

"Yes, professor."

"Captains, shake hands." Riddle stepped forward and held out his hand to the Ravenclaw captain, Orpheus Grisham. Grisham glared at his opponent and grasped Riddle's pale forearm briefly before letting it go as though it were a burning hot iron. Maeve was standing off to Orpheus's right, carefully avoiding any eye contact with Riddle at all.

"Sinclaire." Tom nodded to her in acknowledgement.

"Let's play a clean game, Riddle. That means stay away from my Chaser while we're in the air-" Orpheus blurted defensively, eye to eye with Tom.

"Shut it, Grisham." Maeve snapped angrily at her captain and strode out to spread in a circle around the two seekers, Riddle and Reuben Estrella. Riddle smirked at Grisham and tipped his head slightly to the side.

"You heard her." Grisham's face was contorted with rage as he mounted his broom. Riddle smiled to himself as Madam Rook threw the quaffle in the air and they were off, launching into the sky amid the cheers of their houses. Maeve was like a hawk, swooping down to snatch the ball out of the air mere seconds after it was released.

"And it's Sinclaire in possession of the quaffle…Now Grisham, he's playing very aggressively here…That's a cobbing!" Thornby, a Hufflepuff in charge of announcing the game groaned as Grisham's elbow smashed into Lupus's face. Maeve sighed and slowed her broom, making a hairpin turn and taking her place for the defensive around the Ravenclaw scoring area. She watched intently as they lined up: Yaxley next to Juliane Kava(a fellow Ravenclaw) and then Grisham swooped up on her left…her heart thundered unevenly in her chest as Riddle parked himself neatly beside her, handsome face intent on the quaffle. Maeve struggled to suppress her shudder and focus on the game. It was funny how little the Quidditch game mattered when compared with the fact that she was flying beside Tom Riddle.

Lupus threw the quaffle and their brooms shot forward as a bell indicated that the shot had gone through. Maeve swore loudly and sped back along the field, trying to get open for the next pass. Tom was racing around searching for the snitch when he heard screams of horror from the crowd. He glanced up to see what the commotion was about as Thornby shrieked a warning into the megaphone: "ROGUE BLUDGER!"

Lupus and Abraxas shot off in opposite directions to avoid the speeding, black iron ball as it smashed into the handle of a Ravenclaw chasers broom. The sound of the impact was unpleasant, a terrified yelp that was unmistakably female and a crack as the handle shattered. Tom watched in fascinated horror as the broken handle stabbed into the players shoulder like a stake and the quaffle flew out her hand, bludger slamming into her stomach and knocking her backwards off the remainder of her broom…and then he recognized her.

Maeve felt herself plunging towards the pitch, a drop of two hundred feet. The horror of the fall and the feeling of stabbing pain in her shoulder was terrifying. _I'm going to die._ She thought giddily,_ All that time I was worried what Riddle thought of me and now I'm going to die in front of the entire school…how stupid. _Darkness was clouding her vision as she fell, dizziness. That was nice. She would be unconscious when she broke every bone in her body. Very vaguely, she thought what was probably to be her very last thought alive: _I wonder who caught the quaffle?_

It was a knee jerk reaction that made him dive for her. He hurtled towards the ground at a ridiculous speed, trying desperately to defy gravity. He was twenty feet from her…now ten…now five…he released the handle of his broom with both hands and snatched her from the air with precision of a seeker. Supporting her body with his left arm he snatched his broom handle in his right hand, the dismayed screams of the crowd in his ears as he tried to pull up out of the dive. His muscles strained and he gritted his teeth as he hauled on the wood desperately, the grassy pitch seemingly to leap up to meet him. _UP! GO UP NOW!_ His brain screamed.

"_Ascendio!_"

"TOM!" Rafe looked down to see the comet two sixty hurtling towards the ground…and then, against all odds, it began to rise at a sharp, awkward angle back into the air. Then it flattened out and both its riders tumbled three feet to the ground.

"Maeve. Maeve! SINCLAIRE! Wake up!" Tom knelt over her prone body. The blue fabric over her left shoulder was sticky and red and he could feel blood drying in large smears across his left arm. He rolled her over gently, brushing her blonde hair back so he could see her face. She was white as a sheet! Tom's eyes widened and he felt panic grip him.

"MAEVE!" He shouted, laying his ear to her chest. The heartbeats were frantic and fast-paced, but audible. Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned, barely moving.

"Get up." He panted, shoulders sagging with relief.

They were cheering for him, the entire school in the harsh sunlight that lit up the pitch. They had no idea how badly she was hurt, nor any idea how close they had both been to death.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Madam Yarrow was brushing him aside, her wand out as she bent over the prone body. Maeve shifted slightly and opened one green eye to gaze at him in wonder.

"Tom?" She broke off coughing, a little more blood gushing from the wound over her shoulder.

"Tom? Is that you?" Tom turned and his lip curled defensively and he took a step back as Dumbledore strode across the pitch towards him. The expression of surprise on the Professors face was at the very least unflattering.

"She was falling. I caught her, that's all." He had caught her, but why? Why had he even tried to in the first place? Tom shook his head in confusion, staring at the pitch. He'd risked his life for that _girl_…

"Are you injured?" Madam Yarrow scrutinized Tom from where she was fussing over Maeve's shoulder. He clenched his fists and shook his head gravely.

The other players, both Ravenclaw and Slytherin, started to touch down around them. The Slytherin's clustered around Tom with grim expressions on their faces. The Ravenclaw's may as well have been one entity, for they all shared the same expression of disbelieving horror. Orpheus's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to speak, gaping soundlessly. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom shot Lupus and Abraxas his blackest look. Abraxas visibly winced and Lupus's panting breaths hitched in terror, shoulders hunched. Garth and Alistair, catching the tail-end of the glare, shrank back a bit in fear.

"Ah!" Maeve struggled to her feet, clutching her stomach as Madam Yarrow poked and prodded with her wand.

"This could have been much worse, Mr. Riddle." Madam Yarrow had finished her assessment and was now trying to support Maeve's body against her own. It was too awkward a position to work, Tom realized, the stout little woman was not tall enough to give Maeve's willowy form any kind of support.

"I-" Tom reached out as Maeve pitched forward. She was feather light as he slid an arm around her waist, wincing at the bloodied robes that slicked his finger's crimson. Gratefully, she leaned into his side and allowed him to help her walk from the pitch. The crowd cheered as they left the field, Madam Yarrow hurrying on ahead to open the doors.

"I'm alright, Riddle. You don't have to…you didn't have to-" Maeve struggled to speak, a motion that caused exquisite pain to skitter through her right side.

"Shush." Tom tried to help her up the steps, but she'd hardly lifted her foot when the agonizing pain ripped through her side again and she stumbled forward with a cry. He barely caught her as Madam Yarrow came tottering down the steps squawking:

"Oh! Oh! Careful, Tom! I think the Bludger may have broken some ribs after all! Here-" And she started to conjure a stretcher.

"I've got her." Tom supported Maeve's shoulder and slid an arm under her knees, lifting her into his arms. He smirked at the shocked expression on her pretty face.

"Oh!" Madma Yarrow's normally pale cheeks turned a little pink at the site of Tom striding over the threshold like a knight in shining armor carrying a very gray looking Maeve. She muttered some thing about 'appropriate conduct' but didn't conjure a stretcher.

"Tom…" Maeve mumbled softly, her face nestled into his shoulder. She was so vulnerable, so delicate with her tantalizing lips…even if she was slightly unhealthy in pallor at the moment.

"Yes?" He whispered.

"Wha…what happened? I had the quaffle and then…my broom exploded." Tom nearly laughed at the bemused expression on her face but then thought better of it.

"A bludger drove straight through the shaft of your broom and hit you, Maeve. It was a freak-" Tom stopped abruptly, tense from head to foot. No rogue bludger did something like that of it's own accord. And no rogue bludger went straight for the object of his affections like she was a magnet. The fury ripped through his chest like a rampant wildfire. _How dare she…! That little bitch!_

"Tom?"

"A freak accident, that's all. Nothing to worry about." He murmured silkily, trying to keep the ferocious glare from his features. Oh, O'Brien was going to pay for interfering with this. He was going to cause that cheating little maggot so much pain…

"Your lying, Riddle. I can see that your lying." Maeve challenged, and her eyes lost all their weakness.

"Excuse me?" Tom was taken aback by the frankness of her reply. So, the shrinking violet could become his little viper that quickly, could she? He'd have to be more careful than he'd previously thought-

"Here, Riddle, set her down right there." Yarrow gestured to one of the bed at the far corner of the chamber, pouring out some sort of green potion into a clear goblet and stirring it with her wand.

He lay Maeve down gently on the narrow infirmary bed, disconcerted. The only other person who could catch him lying was Dumbledore. This Ravenclaw business was fast getting out of hand, or else he was just slipping. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Maeve, surprised by the fierce expression on her face. Even more surprising was the fact that it was directed him.

"I think you hit your head." He said, with a forced attempt at lightness.

"I think she was trying to hit me in the head with that bludger, Riddle." Tom's breath caught in his throat as Maeve pushed herself up on her elbows, dark green eyes searching his face. "And I think you planned it."

"What?! Sinclaire, your being ridiculous…" Now, she was far off the mark. And she'd overstepped her bounds hugely with that accusation.

"Don't tell me I'm being ridiculous, _Tom Riddle_. You calculate and scheme and create elaborate plans, you've never done anything without thinking first. How could you have caught me that quickly if you weren't expecting it? That girl was controlling the bludger and-" Maeve gasped as her words were caught off by a hand at her mouth and one pinning her to the bed by her neck. Eyes like steel burned into hers and lent Riddle's terrifying snarl a cruel savagery.

"I watched the bludger hit you, _Maeve Sinclaire_. I was flying underneath you and then I dove to catch you. Does that answer your question? And I have never, on my honor as the heir of Slytherin house-" Her eyes widened at this and the pressure on her neck increased. "-planned anything so idiotic and blatantly obvious as O'Brien's ploy with that bludger! She has her own reasons for attacking you and you should get used to it if this is how you repay my-!" Tom sucked in a furious breath, trying to get his emotions under control once more. This innocent little Ravenclaw was going to be the death of him! He snatched his hand back from her mouth and throat, appalled at himself. He stood up abruptly, his back ramrod straight and his lips set in a tight line. How dare she doubt his…he…even for a second!? She…she was right, damn her. That was the infuriating thing, she could tell when he was lying!

Why did he feel so confused, so out of his depth looking down into her vulnerable, terrified face? One moment, she was delicate and the next she'd leap at him with her fangs bared…no one had ever been this difficult for Tom to understand. What?! He'd never tried to understand…why was he…what?

"Alright, Sinclaire, how are you feeling?" Madam Yarrow bent down to grip Maeve's wrist and smile kindly at her.

"I'm feeling…a bit better." Maeve smiled reassuringly at the woman, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She was trembling with terror and she shot him a nervous glance.

"Well, lets get you out of these Quidditch robes and have a look at your shoulder…you, Mr. Riddle, have to leave. You can come check on her later." Madam Yarrow had barely finished the sentence when Tom, with a swift nod at Maeve, turned on his heel and marched out of the infirmary. The stout little woman turned back to Maeve with a whistle and raised eyebrows.

"Whatever did you do to poor Riddle? I don't think I've ever seen him in such a state…" Maeve didn't answer, but bowed her head in shame.

~*~

"You were supposed to be WATCHING HER!!" Every Slytherin still present raced to their dormitories, tripping over one another in their haste. Tom whirled on his faithful cohorts, his chest heaving and fists balled tightly at his side. Lanterns and torches rattled in their brackets and guttered frantically. "She was your responsibility! How could you have let her be injured like that?! How could you have betrayed my trust!? Malfoy, Lestrange! This is the kind of behavior I expect from those two imbeciles, Alistair and Garth! Have some sense!"

"But Tom, we thought that winning the match-"

"DID I EVER TELL YOU WINNING THE MATCH WAS MORE IMPORTANT?!" Tom roared, his voice reaching an eardrum shattering level.

"Well, no, but-"

"But what?" Tom's voice was deadly cool.

"We assumed t-that-"

"YOU ASSUME NOTHING!! EVER!! Were any of you aware that O'Brien's jealousy was driving her to such ridiculous heights as today's foolish display?! Where is that…!" Tom smashed his fist down onto a marble and glass table-top, cracking the surface.

"I'm right here." Caoinin's voice rang out shrilly, her pale skin white in the green glow of the lanterns. Scantily clad in her black lace nightgown, she slunk into the common room, icy gaze fixed on Riddle's.

"Riddle, please don't hurt her…" Rafe murmured breathlessly, shaking with terror.

"She might hurt him, at this rate." Abraxas whispered in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

"My money's on Tom." Lupus snuck up behind them as Tom spoke:

"You will regret this, O'Brien."

"The only thing I regret-" Caoinin held her head high and her breath escaped in a hiss. "-is that the bludger didn't kill her."

"Yes, and in the process, it nearly killed both of us. How would you have felt then, Caoinin?" And with that blow, the battle was won. O'Brien's shoulders sagged with defeat and she hung her head. Tom's laugh was bloodcurdling and the Fortunate Four felt a little less so as they shared a unanimous wince.

"You may be able to play my game, O'Brien, but you cant win with a conscience." His voice was cool and brittle, his raw smile humourless.

"I hate you." She sobbed, heartbroken.

"You are but one of many." He spat ruthlessly, turning his back on her and the boys. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see a Gryffindor about his girlfriend. Or well, really just the girl. Good night and sweet, lonely dreams, Cao darling." Tom left with a vicious smile, deaf to the sounds of Caoinin's piteous weeping.


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: **Haha! Gotcha! I'm finally leaving a note for you guys! The only reason I haven't before is just laziness and an utter lack of time. Hello, hello, how are you all? Anyway, the point of this note is as follows: I see you little alerters/favouriters in my story traffic yet I only see three of you giving me reviews! PLEASE REVIEW :'( I'm very sad when you dont! Feedback not only encourages me to write more, but helps me improve. And those of you who have been reviewing, thank you *hands out chocolate frogs and blood pops*! Enjoy the sixth chapter!

_"The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love."_ **~Walter S. Landor**

He was so angry, angrier than he'd ever recalled being in his entire life. He'd not been this angry back at the orphanage, when the muggle boys and girls made fun of him and called him a freak. He'd not been this angry when he was sorted into Slytherin and the houses current head boy had turned up his nose at the unfamiliar surname of Riddle. He'd not been this angry when Dumbledore scolded him in front of his classmates…but now, his fury was boundless.

He'd been like this for weeks, and every time he saw that little-! Tom took a deep breath to steady himself and tried to focus on finishing the most dissatisfying goblet of pumpkin juice it had ever been his displeasure to drink. How could she know?! How could she even presume that she knew anything about him or his motives? The thing that really stung, though, was that she'd thought he'd sink to such a low level to procure her affections. Tom liked to think he came across as more intelligent than that.

Caoinin, at least, had left him alone since being raked over the coals. She was still 'in love' with him, of course, but at least she'd stopped pursuing him with such persistence. He glanced over at her and saw her luscious lips spread wide in a grin that was more malevolence than mirth. She only had eyes for his look of discontentment.

"What are you looking at?" He asked in what sounded like an alarmingly petulant tone of voice. Tom Riddle, petulant? That bloody _girl_…

"Oh, just Maeve. My, my look how popular she is among the boys these days. Seems you've done the little maiden a favour. Because she's not a little maiden anymore, is she?" She shot back, the smirk becoming a fully fledged sneer. Tom's fists clenched and he glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. There was a dark-haired boy leaning over the table and chatting to Maeve, who listened with an expression of polite disinterest on her face. Meanwhile, Grisham ogled her unashamedly, a casual arm thrown over her shoulders as he exchanged curt words with the other possible suitor. Something unpleasant writhed in the pit of Riddle's stomach and his teeth ground together with a click.

"I never slept with Maeve Sinclaire." Tom muttered irritably, his jaw clenched. He felt Rafe shift to look at him, taking notice of his master's spiking ire.

"What?! Really? That's rich-" Abruptly, the jealous girls taunting ceased. Caoinin choked and her hands flew to her throat. Her pretty blue eyes bulged as her alabaster skin took on a similar cast. Tom slowly withdrew his wand from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers contemplatively. Rafe shifted uncomfortably beside him, looking increasingly panicked.

"Tom, she's not breathing-"

"Yes, I can see that, Lestrange." Tom said dryly as Everett Yaxley casually held out a hand and supported Caoinin so she didn't slump backwards and attract attention. Tom nodded his thanks and took a sip of pumpkin juice. Mmhm, it was beginning to taste better now…

"Tom, Dumbeldore is watching-"

"Have it your way, then." With a flick of his wand, Caoinin collapsed onto the table with a tremendous gasp.

"Chicken's rather spicy today, isn't it, O'Brien?" Abraxas said loudly as Professor Merrythought strode by, casting them all a suspicious glance. Caoinin croaked and pushed herself up on her elbows, terrified and panting.

"And that, O'Brien, is what they mean when they say 'biting off more than you can chew'." Evangeline Macnair laughed heartily at her own joke, tossing a cascade of ruby tresses over her shoulder and smiling coquettishly at Riddle. Tom sniffed and pretended not to notice, he didn't need another Caoinin. Slowly, he placed his wand back in his pocket and finished the last of his goblet like it was penitence.

"Rafe?" He murmured softly, when their housemates attention had turned elsewhere.

"Yes?"

"You are still watching Maeve, aren't you?" Tom asked, setting the goblet down and tracing it's edge with a forefinger.

"Yes, of course." Rafe looked slightly indignant, pulling himself up to his full height.

"Tell me, then, why Caoinin seems to know more about her than you do?" He knocked the goblet over and his eyes turned to gray ice, his handsome face suddenly twisted in an expression of quiet fury.

"I didn't think that you wanted to be bothered with-" Rafe's adams apple bobbed up and down.

"Is this going to be a replay of the Quidditch fiasco?" Tom became docile once more, coiled like a snake about to strike. Rafe bowed his head in shame and was silent, looking hurt.

"Yaxley?"

"Yeah? Uh, I mean, yes?"

"You're in charge." Rafe made a sound of protest as Yaxley punched the air in triumph. "So, if something goes wrong; you will be punished. Am I clear?"

"As crystal." Yaxley gulped, his face falling as the threat sank in.

"Good." Tom glanced up at where Maeve was sitting. Tom Riddle had never been outdone, and he never would be.

~*~

Maeve sighed and set her head down on the book she was reading, the smell of old parchment and dust thick in her nose. Her life had returned to boring normality in the weeks following Tom's now famous rescue of a classmate. And he hadn't spoken to her since. Because she had trapped herself with her own bloody stupidity by mistaking his rescue for an attempt on her life. She groaned and beat the desk surface with her fist.

"Hey, Sinclaire! Perk up, any moment Slughorn's going to turn around. And how would it look for a Ravenclaw to be caught napping, eh?" Orik Macmillan nudged her with his elbow.

"Please, Macmillan, not now." She mumbled, tucking her head under her arm with a sigh. Let Slughorn see, she didn't care and it didn't matter. She was a fool, just as much as the happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff sitting beside her.

"Ms. Sinclaire, are you well?" Slughorn bustled over to check on their potions where they were simmering at the corner of their desks. _Nivea Amore_, or White Love, a lesser love potion designed to create feelings of innocent, mutual attraction.

"I'm fine." She sat up and watched Slughorn dip a ladle into her potion and stir it for a moment. It was watery and off-white colour, burbling sadly.

"Hmm, it doesn't seem like your heart is really in this potion today, Sinclaire. Let's see you add a little more spice to this, eh?" Slughorn frown as he pulled out his ladle and wiped it clean on the corner of his robes. Maeve sighed and placed the tip of her wand to her chest and tried to summon up feelings of love. But as soon as her mind touched memories of Riddle, something jerked painfully inside her chest and she lowered her wand.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I just cant summon the emotion I need today."

"Maybe next class, Sinclaire. Everyone has their highs and lows, I suppose. Perhaps you should speak to Riddle about-"

"No!" She snapped, her wand making a loud clacking noise as she slapped it down on the surface of her desk. Several Hufflepuffs and a few of her own housemates turned to look at her in astonishment. Maeve struggled to recover at Slughorn's stunned expression. "Uh…I mean, I don't think Riddle's the one I need to talk to. Thanks for the suggestion, Professor."

She sank back into her seat and pretended to stir her ruined potion. It had the consistency and appearance of spoiled milk and smelled nearly as bad. She groaned and gave up as soon as she was certain everyone had recovered from her outburst. Thank Merlin for small mercies, now she could sink back into despondency for the rest of the period.

"So, you and Riddle, then? Is that what this is about?"

"I'm sorry?" Maeve blinked and looked over at Orik. He was dutifully stirring his version Of Nivea Amore, which was thick like sherbert and a healthy looking cream colour.

"Come on, Maeve. Slughorn just mentioned his name and you got a look on your face liked he'd just asked you if you'd fancy a snog with a dementor. Not that I consider there to be much difference between Tom and a dementor. They both suck out peoples souls, one just specializes in women-" Maeve sat there, listening to Orik rant like an idiot about something he knew nothing about. Filthy little mud blood…

"Edith Thomas has been permanently scarred by that fork-tongued slime-"

"Macmillan?" Her voice was measured and tense with suppressed fury. She was angry with herself, she was angry with Riddle, and she just wanted to be left alone! She rose up like a puff adder and loomed over the scrawny, freckly boy.

"What?"

"Do you have _any idea _how much _I don't care_? In fact, the only one to perhaps rival my apathy on whatever the _hell _your talking about is Riddle himself. So, cut the dragon shite and go snog a dementor yourself, you insufferable little-" The bell rang for class to end and Orik bolted from the dungeon like his life depended upon it. Her breath hissed from her lungs as she deflated, exhausted from the effort of entertaining even that much emotion. At least it would teach Orik never to try and sympathize with her again. She collected her books and left the classroom without even so much as a word of goodbye to the baffled Professor Slughorn.

As she stormed off down the hallway, she didn't notice the lone figure that detached itself from the shadowy alcove and tailed her down the corridor towards the Great Hall for dinner. Anger and doubt, guilt and depression. She cycled through all these emotions and spat them back out in disgust. She was weak, she was lonely and she was never to be cherished or adored by anyone. She didn't deserve it-

"Maeve! Mae, wait up!" There was only one boy in the world foolish enough to call her by that idiotic sobriquet. Orpheus Grisham loped up beside her and set a hand around her waist, she jerked away from him and dodged his attempt to place a kiss on her cheek.

"Leave me alone." She muttered, pulling away and turning in the other direction. Orpheus's face hardened for a moment and then smoothed itself out into a tense smile.

"A little warm emotion never hurt anyone. But then again, maybe you like your men cold…like Riddle." Maeve stopped and her hands balled into fists.

"He caught me on the pitch, Grisham. I found his tie in the library, that's _all _that happened." She looked up at him wearily, why couldn't everyone just shut up about Riddle? It was no use trying to explain to everyone that she hadn't slept with him, because that's the conclusion they all immediately jumped to. She was just one of the many throw-away's in Riddle's ever-growing list.

"Come on, Sinclaire. You're 'I'm such a little goody girl' act is wearing thin, especially when you'll sleep with that soulless bastard but not with me-" He reached out and snatched her wrist, jerking her closer to him. _At least,_ thought Maeve spitefully, _the souless bastard is attractive and had some semblance of charm._

"Let go of me, Orpheus." Maeve hissed, trying to tug her arm out of his grasp.

"Come to supper with me."

"What? Down in the Great Hall? That's romantic." She snorted, managing to tug her arm out of his grip.

"Is that a yes?"

"No, your gallant manners and my so-called relationship with Tom Riddle have made me lose my appetite, thanks." She turned her back on him and marched off towards the astronomy tower, tossing her golden head in frustration.

Orpheus sighed and rolled his eyes. Oh, she'd come round and see the light one of these days. He may not have been cool or mysterious like that son of a pureblood bitch Riddle, but he was her Quidditch Captain. Women looked up to authority figure's in their lives. Before this business with Tom, Maeve had always been a good little girl. She'd never questioned any of his plays, she'd let him sit next to her during meals and when they were in classes together. Obedient and meek and pretty, perfect girlfriend material.

But then that little shite Riddle came along and ruined everything. Even now that he'd lost interest and was out of the picture, Maeve's backbone had grown in leaps and bounds. The pretty little sweet girl suddenly hated everyone, refused to come out of the library and reacted to life's everyday inconvenience's with sporadic fits of violence. She was _becoming _Riddle, for the love of Merlin!

"Hey, swot boy." A taunting male voice from directly behind him made Orpheus jump

"What did you call me?" Orpheus turned on the tall blonde boy. What the hell was Everett Yaxley doing without Macnair and his girlfriend? That eerily beautiful Zabini girl…

"You know how with you 'no' means 'yes' and 'piss off' means 'come snog' ? Well, pretend no actually means _no _and shove off. If you want to keep your balls, that is." Yaxley smirked at the big lumbering ox in front of him. How an idiot like this had managed to end up in the smartest house of Hogwarts he'd never understand.

"Why don't you let me worry about my balls, thanks. Your fearless leader ditched Sinclaire, remember?" Orpheus puffed out his chest like an agitated rooster.

"We purebloods protect our own, regardless." Yaxley shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Piss off, Yaxley. Or I'll hex you so horribly you'll be taking your meals through a straw."

"It's your funeral, Grisham. Anyhow, cheerio and don't forget…" Everett paused for effect, a grin on his menacing features, his eyes like artic ice. "_We'll _be watching."

With that, the Slytherin turned on his heel and marched off in the direction Maeve had gone, hands in his pockets and merrily whistling a tune that sounded vaguely like a funeral march. Orpheus watched him meet up with three other housemates, speak briefly with them and gesture over his shoulder. Orpheus felt four pairs of eyes turn on him and heard unsettlingly chilling laughter.

"Bloody Slytherins…what a load of freaks." He turned and continued to the Great Hall, a shiver shooting down his pathetically weak spine.

~*~

Maeve was feigning sleep in one of the armchairs, her eyes open the tiniest, imperceptible slit. Through this tiny field of vision, she watched Rafe Lestrange. He stood maybe three yards from her, standing a silent sentinel. He was pretending(very poorly)to read what looked like a copy of Witch Weekly. Realizing this, he did a quick perimeter check to see if anyone had noticed and then chucked it behind him.

"Damn it all," Maeve listened to him swear quietly as he sank to the floor, leaning back against a bookshelf and sneering at a passing Gryffindor. As soon as he thought no one was their to listen, he continued his frustrated diatribe in a barely audible grumble. "I haven't eaten lunch in _three days_. For the love of Merlin, how long can this go on…Just a bloody girl…should just boff her and get it over with…reading rubbish about the world's top ten hottest wizards…should just dress up as a book, bet she'd bang him then…bloody library, colder than a tomb in here…"

So he had been stalking her! But obviously not for himself…for Tom? Why would Tom want his group, especially his prized second-in-command Rafe, to follow her everywhere? It didn't make any sense, Riddle had obviously moved on to bigger and better things. In fact, he'd thrown himself at the female population of Hogwarts with a voracious vengeance, leaving behind him a swath of broken hearts and empty promises so widespread there was more than one boyfriend baying for blood. Why, in the name of Rowena Ravenclaw herself, would Tom have half his posse watching out for her when he really needed them all to scare off a tide of disgruntled ex's?

Maeve opened her eyes and stood up quickly, much too quickly for someone who'd been supposedly asleep. Rafe went rigid and bit off the last of his sentence, looking down at the floor. Emboldened by this new revelation, Maeve strode over to him and held out a hand, smiling down into his look of horror at being discovered.

"So, Lestrange, are you hungry?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Alright, so this chapter has been incredibly difficult to write. I'm sorry if it's clumsy or has some mistakes, but I literally had to soldier through it. I've tried to dig a bit deeper with Maeve and was a little overwhelmed by how much there was that needed explanation. I strived to make this as smooth a read as I could. Unfortunately, I feel like I'm beating you over the head with a _Disenchanted_ club, though, so forgive me. Balancing the college classes and the writing is driving me a bit crazy, so I apologize if this is substandard. I can tell you that it will get better(and more romantic)then this, but I have to come to terms with my two Tom personalities and make them mesh properly.

In any case, reviews are GREAT! Thank you to all of those who have and hopefully I haven't disappointed you too much with this:

_"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent beneath it."_ **~William Shakespeare**

Maeve stirred the cold, gray porridge with her wand tip, unsuccessfully attempting a warming charm. Ah, it was pointless. Besides, she didn't even like porridge. Usually the food at Hogwarts was much more appetizing, but the house elves got lazy around the end of term. This was a classic example of what her father would have called 'an unacceptable breach in what was meant to be an unconditional and obligatory contract of eternal servitude to the wizarding race'. Needless to say, house elves were not respected or provided for in the Sinclaire household.

She dreaded going back there to spend another interminably miserable Christmas. That was really all she needed at this point, in addition to the Riddle situation. Ugh. Maeve shoved that thought from her consciousness and instead dwelled upon the misery that was her immediate family. Her mother would once again harass her for not having spent more time with eligible pureblood boys and her father harangue her about the lack of pride she took in being of the noble house of Sinclaire. This, of course, was not true. Maeve was exceedingly proud of being pureblood(she made it a point to try to have as little to do with muggle-borns or even half-bloods as possible), but she did not think it necessary to waste time strutting about the castle when she should be studying. The source of her parents perpetual vexation was not that she 'slunk around with her head in a book like a little mudblood cow' but that she could not be more like Arria. Clearly, her elder sister was the peak of parental pureblood achievement.

Maeve had always looked up to Arria for that and, consequently, she had always envied her. Arria had succeeded in all the areas Maeve had failed: Arria Sinclaire had continued the proud family tradition of ending up in Slytherin house, she had quickly made worthwhile alliances and friendships with all her respectable pureblood classmates and become insanely popular, not to mention that she'd always attracted the eye aforementioned _male _classmates. Even those of pure lineage unfortunate enough to end up in houses of a lesser merit than Slytherin had practically worshipped Arria. _She'd have had Riddle wrapped around her finger in a heartbeat, _Maeve thought ruefully, glancing over at Slytherin table almost against her will.

Her eyes quickly scanned the meager gathering and saw the usual: an empty space on the bench between Rafe and Yaxley. Ah, poor Lestrange. He'd apparently been deposed in favour of the more 'competent' Everett Yaxley. Maeve pitied Rafe Lestrange a little, she really did. He had always been, if not kind, then at least polite to her. Certainly, he had the cutthroat qualities of any other Slytherin, but he lacked the selfishness that was second nature her cousin, Abraxas and that Lupus Black. He was unswervingly loyal to Riddle in a way that was-she smiled a little and the absurdity of the comparison-a bit like a house elf, really. She'd half expected him to go shut his hands in a door somewhere in a lesser form of self-flagellation when she had caught him stalking her. She had to convince him that she wouldn't tell Riddle and that she never intended to blackmail him later with the knowledge. She had, however, considered it an absurd solution when he muttered something about the Unbreakable Vow and of course refused to perform it. She'd sworn on the purity of her blood that she would not reveal his lapse. _After all_, she thought rather bitterly, _it isn't like I'm on speaking terms with Tom Riddle at the moment. _

Agh, the Riddle failure was a particularly dark and nasty bloodstain on an already thoroughly ruined track record. At least her mother didn't _know _about her failure, like she had known with the Weasly's. Now that had truly been terrible, she grimaced just thinking about it. No food for a month except what Arria could sneak into her room(which wasn't much), and the entire family had been forbidden to speak to her for the entire holiday. All of her privileges were suspended throughout her fifth year…she'd never been that miserable in her entire life. _Well, I'd never been that miserable until _now_, of course._

It was frustrating, being the middle child in a pureblood family. Especially since she was the lesser daughter who had not 'blossomed' as expected. At the age of sixteen, Maeve's chances of physically 'blossoming' into anything special were slim to none. Her mother was beautiful, her sister was _exquisite_…even her father and brother were at the very least handsome.

Maeve, the sorting hat had said, was a particularly difficult student to place. She was what Megaera Sinclaire liked to spitefully call 'a social Squib'. Maeve had made acquaintances though, embarrassingly low on the totem pole acquaintances but acquaintances none the less: Rubeus Hagrid had been one of them before being expelled, gargantuan and clumsy but a truly kind boy. _I didn't really know him that well, _Maeve amended ruefully in her head. _We just shared a common interest in dragons. And there was always that pitiful Myrtle girl, too. I cried so hard when that thing got her, but she wasn't even pureblood and she was so annoying. Still, I don't think I really wanted her to die…_Maeve grimaced, no wonder she had few friends, they had rather short life/happiness expectancies. Really, it wasn't her fault that she was shunned by Ravenclaws for being the 'Pure Plague Queen's younger sister, or that the Hufflepuff's were unbearably, insufferably nice. Griffyndors…well, that was like trying to have an intellectual conversation with a self-righteous brick wall by butting heads with it. Slytherin was where she could have made friends, had she just tried harder and not been _terrified _of being rejected from that final haven.

Maeve dropped her gaze before any of the Fortunate could catch her looking. Every few minutes, one of them would discreetly glance over to check and make sure she was still there. They'd grown lax in the weeks following Riddle's sudden disappearance from the great hall. She could not even catch sight of Riddle between classes these days. Even when she did see him during class, any attempt to speak to or otherwise approach him would have been futile. He always had his latest conquest tagging along after him(This was always coupled by a terminally bored and disgusted expression that only deepened every time the girl of the hour began to speak.), or he was surrounded by Slytherin boys(There was no real noticeable change in the accompanying facial expression.). Not that she'd ever be able to work up the nerve to speak to him after all the idiocy that had taken place; but she liked to think that maybe he was just sulking and hadn't decided that having a lackey follow her everywhere was the most amusing method of torture he could devise for girls who insulted him. The latter was probably the truth, but what good was the ridiculous feeling everyone called love if you couldn't dream up impossible but entertaining fantasies whilst under it's supposed influence?

No, Maeve did not believe there was a such thing as love. It had eluded her for so long, both at home and elsewhere, that it was now no more than mere myth. There was infatuation and lust, but the existence of love was questionable. But it was surely a good excuse for all the evil that seemed to befall the young men and women of her age. Yes, Arria had never 'fallen in love' and she'd done beautifully. In fact, her parents probably admired such fortitude, seeing as their relationship was wholly devoid of the scourge of love.

Infatuation was exactly the feeling she felt for Riddle, wasn't it? A painful but hopefully fleeting longing to be held and cherished by a boy who she knew was not only unattainable, but emotionally undesirable. Tom was as cool and detached as he was vindictive and cruel. She had never seen him do anything even remotely decent that was in not someway related to his own personal gain…

Except for the Quidditch incident, of course. Maeve winced and traced a large gouge in the dark wood, rune-engraved tabletop with her index finger, trying to stem the overwhelming feeling of guilt. Well, if that had been the one redeeming feat Tom Marvolo Riddle had ever performed in his life, she'd thoroughly ensured that he never make another one. He had truly saved her from imminent death and it had been obvious to her that he didn't enjoy being cosmically 'tricked' into doing something moral. But Maeve did not admire Riddle for his morals; she admired him for his independence. Where she had always been caged by her parent's expectations and paralyzed by timidity, Riddle was released from such bonds. He was powerful and free, he answered to no one. Ruthless and arrogant, but free…

"Hello, Maeve!" Hattie Lovegood startled Maeve from a brooding reverie with her blissfully ignorant greeting, perching on the bench across from her.

"Hello, Hattie. How are you?" Hattie was the only girl who still spoke to Maeve with anything like civility. The rest were either too jealous or too disgusted to have anything to do with her. Even Abigail, while she found the entire situation humorous, could not work up the courage to be seen with Maeve in the hallways. Lovegood, however, had nothing to lose. While as intelligent as any other Ravenclaw, she was odd and had a nasty habit of being what some might say too honest in her estimations of character, whether these be good or ill.

"Oh, I'm alright." Maeve was not convinced by this, but let the subject drop. Hattie's head shot up and she fixed her misty gaze on Maeve's, smiling slightly. "And you?"

"I'm alright, too. Just…not very hungry, I guess." She murmured, dipping her spoon into a mass of congealed porridge and bringing it up to her mouth in a mechanical movement.

"You know, Riddle's not eating, either." Hattie murmured in her singularly bemused way. Maeve froze with her second spoonful of oatmeal halfway to her mouth. This was the perfect example of why people rather disliked having Hattie join a conversation. She seemed to have a talent for knowing exactly what was bothering you and then dragging it kicking and screaming to your immediate attention. An extremely unappetizing _glomp _sound emanated from the bowl as the dreaded spoonful returned from whence it came.

"I…er, don't think that means anything, Hattie. Riddle never eats much, I really think it's more that he has other gir-_things _occupying his time." She watched Hattie spread a forkful of marmite over her apple and take a bite, cheerfully oblivious to the inner turmoil she had just wrought.

"Why don't you occupy his time?" She asked dreamily, brushing a few fluffy red locks from her eyes. Maeve choked on a mouthful of liquid defeat and suffered a brief but cataclysmic coughing fit. Hattie, as was her wont, looked on with a serene air. On the other side of the hall, Rafe was steeling himself to rush over and perform the _annapeo _charm.

"Sit the _hell _down, Lestrange. Your making Lupus look like a cautious, sensible young man. It's a wonder she hasn't caught you already." Abraxas grumbled, yanking on Rafe's elbow. Yaxley looked on in boredom, rolling his eyes.

"She's choking!" Rafe gesticulated wildly, astounded by the utter lack of action.

"I sincerely doubt either her breakfast or Mad Hattie Lovegood are going to do the girl any lasting damage." He grumbled, catapulting a spoonful of marmalade at the back of Evangeline's head where it stuck, camouflaged by her coppery curls. "This is truly the world's most pointless assignment Riddle's ever given us. It's like babysitting a flobberworm!"

"A good-looking flobberworm…"

"Don't let him hear you saying that, Lupus. Or you, Yaxley. He'll ring your necks like a pair of-" Abraxas scolded like a mother hen, looking a bit like Yaxley's shorter, better-looking brother.

"Shush!" Rafe looked anxiously over at the table and breathed a tiny sigh of relief. His charge seemed to have recovered from her choking fit, but was staring at Mad Hattie with a look of utter mortification…

"Excuse me?" Maeve gasped, shoving aside the bowl once and for all.

"I believe you, you know, when you say that nothing happened." Hattie informed her quietly, her vacant gaze unnerving as it settled upon Maeve's own.

"I…you do?" Some said that being pureblood made you prone to insanity, but it would have been a better saying that to be Lovegood made you a bloody lunatic.

"Oh yes, why else would he avoid you like he does?"

"Hattie," Maeve groaned and shook her head. How could she let herself hope based upon the ravings of Mad Hattie? "He avoids me because he _hates _me."

"No, I don't think so…Riddle hurts the people he hates. You might be the only person he doesn't hate, do you think that means he-"

"Shut it, Lovegood. _Now_." Maeve did not care if this snub left her friendless from now until the end of eternity. People always looked for the good in every situation, didn't they? Optimism was for idiots and lovers. Friendship, love, humour…it all came so easily to the rest of them, didn't it?

"I've made you cross." Hattie did not take offensive to the sudden, snappish mood-swing.

"No, I've made myself cross…I'm always making myself cross. Just ignore it." Maeve blurted, checking her watch and preparing to leave. On the other side of the hall, Yaxley was grudgingly doing the same. "Look, I'm sorry but I've got to get to Divination in five minutes and Professor Atlanata…"

"See you at supper, then?" Hattie asked, blinking her bulbous eyes.

"Er, I've been thinking I might skip it. But I'll see you in the common room tonight." Maeve turned and rushed out of the hall and into the corridor beyond.

The sheer size of the castle itself was stunning. It teemed with hidden passageways and secret rooms and today, Maeve planned to use them. She'd spent three hours last night in the common room devising a route that would hopefully throw off Yaxley once and for all. Lestrange, though obvious, was not quite as frightening as having Yaxley follow her. Where Rafe was about Riddle's height and build, Yaxley was massive and built like a troll…

Maeve dodged a few errant first years and dashed behind a tapestry of a knight vanquishing a dragon. She ran up a marble staircase and under a gothic arch, past a stone griffin preening itself. She was so busy listening for Yaxley's inevitable pursuit that she smacked into someone and sent them sprawling, knocking over an entire suit of armor in the process. Whoever it was landed a smart kick to Maeve's midsection and she rolled off onto the sharp edges of a breastplate, biting back a yelp and clutching her still healing ribs.

"You imbec-! Oh, it's you, Sinclaire." Zahara Zabini rose to her feet elegantly, her deep and mellifluous voice betraying just a hint of surprise. Maeve looked up at the other girl, marveling(as everyone did)at her utter beauty. Zahara was graced with a long, Amazonian princess body, skin the colour of chocolate and dark, liquid eyes. She moved like a panther, kicking aside the metal scraps and casting Maeve a disdainful glance. "I don't suppose you've seen Yaxley?"

"Somewhere behind me…" Maeve mumbled, grabbing her things and getting to her feet.

"Hmm, well, I've just been studying with Riddle-" Maeve made a face here and felt the tiniest sliver of hurt. "-and I wanted to know when he was going to drag his lazy arse back down to the common room." "Good luck." Maeve muttered as she took off at a run once more, dashing around a corner. She'd barely made it there in time as she heard Zahara accost her boyfriend before he could follow her any further.

Maeve dashed down a few more passageways that took such a strange route he'd be forever trying to determine which way she'd gone. Sighing in delight, she slowed to a walk, proud of herself. If Riddle wanted to keep an eye on her, he was going to have to do it himself. It took more than your run-of the-mill Slytherin thugs to outsmart a Ravenclaw…oh no.

Maeve slowed an looked around at the unfamiliar corridor she found herself in. The only light came from an elegant stained glass window to her left, spilling across a floor that was an inch thick in dust. A stone dragon wound it's way up a pillar on her right, it's maw open in a feral grin. A tapestry had fallen down from one of the walls and lay piled in the corner like a forgotten relic. The corridor beyond the window's meager halo of light was as dark as pitch. Maeve turned and looked for the corridor she'd just came from and cried out in dismay, three identical passageways lay behind her, suddenly just as dark as the one ahead. She must have taken a wrong turn over by the portrait of Walter Wimpleton…or maybe it was that tapestry, it had never sealed itself before…

Maeve turned back and tried to swallow her fear. She'd been terrified of the dark since birth and suffered horrible nightmares. An irrational fear of lethifolds and acromantuala had contributed to this phobia to no end. The corridor ahead of her seemed to ooze menace. Carefully, she walked to the edge of the light.

"_Lumos_." She breathed, her heart pounding like it was preparing to leap out of her chest. Darkness enfolded her in it's drafty embrace, the faint light emanating from her wand comparatively feeble to it's impressive span. Things scuttled and chattered in the darkness and disappeared every time she turned her light on them. Cobwebs stuck to her face and robes and she yelped as something many legged scrabbled across her arm. Her breathing was unnaturally loud in the now cavernous hallway. The air was bitter cold and stagnant with dust, the smell of mold, decay and the arctic scent of winter thick in her nose. Maeve broke into a stumbling run as her feeling of trepidation grew, she was _definitely _late for Divination and she couldn't shake the feeling that _something _was watching her.

Finally, after what must have been hours, she threw herself to the dusty stone in tears. She'd been traveling in circles the whole time and couldn't find her way back towards the original hallway, or any route that didn't lead through to an empty classroom or dark hall. It felt almost like she was in the dungeons…but that couldn't be right, she was _past _the dungeons? Maeve burst into hopeless tears. She was completely pathetic, how could…no, she would not judge herself according to what Riddle would think of her! Nor what her parents would think if they found out that Maeve _got lost _while still inside the school…Maeve panted and looked around. She could be lost down here forever, but she'd at least freeze before she starved. There, that was a comforting thought.

"_Protego._" She'd just sit down here and rest, just for a moment…

~*~

"Mmm, I'm so glad Yaxley was willing to share me with you, Riddle." Zahara Zabini stretched her out her long, lean body until the vertebrae popped under her chocolate skin. Tom resisted the acutest urge to throttle the hell out of her. It was probably the fiftieth time he'd heard about darling Yaxley and his generosity. _You're a trophy, you silly cow, and lesser men share their spoils with their superiors._ He wanted to spit, charming reputation be damned. But instead, Riddle remained unnaturally still and stared stoically up at the deep green, velvet canopy of his four-poster bed.

Nothing helped to cure him of this horrid affliction. Little gave him peace or eased the sharp longing that rose in his chest. At this rate, he'd be beside himself by the time they all returned from Christmas holiday. Another holiday alone(he didn't mind that part so much), another holiday with Dumbledore stalking him…oh, it was going to be _horrible_.

"…lasted less than a minute! It was the worst I've ever-" But at least he wouldn't have to listen to _this _the entire time.

Tom grunted in acknowledgement of something she was chittering about and worked to button his shirt, his mood gradually worsening. Maybe there was time to go see that little Hufflepuff brunette? Or that Gryffindor blood-traitor with the legs…_All girls have legs_, some sensible part of his brain replied to this errant desire. Hufflepuff was closer than marching up that bloody staircase-

"Don't you think, Riddle? That it was generous?" Zahara shot him a rather pointed look, lounging on his bed as though she owned it. It was a struggle to keep the disgusted expression of his face.

"Just put some clothing on and hurry up." He slammed the door behind him, feeling ravenous. He had to be at dinner tonight or Dumbledore would complain to Dippet and he'd end up in that bumbling fool's office being interrogated _again_. He strode up the steps to the common room with furiously short and rapid strides. The comforting green glow and the trickling refraction of lamplit water across the columns did nothing to comfort him as he strode by the serpent fountain in the centre of the black marble common. His shoes made sharp, satisfying noises as they struck the black stone. He was so focused he nearly plowed into Lupus as he swept out of the common room. As it was, he knocked the other boy backwards with his advance.

"Black, what on earth are you doing on the floor? And where is Mae-Sinclaire? Well, get up!" Tom snapped, his temper rawer than it had ever been in the history of his existence. Lupus leapt to his feet frantically, brushing off his robes and running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I-uh! Nothing to report, she's…erm…Yes, Yaxley can tell you more than me, uh, going up to the Great Hall? Be up in a minute…just have to brush my teeth before dinner…" He attempted to dash past Riddle, only to find a cold hand at his throat.

"What is it, Lupus, that Yaxley can tell me that you cannot?" Black had come as the reluctant bearer of inevitably bad news, of this Tom was certain. It was taking a huge amount of restraint not to just kill the messenger out of pure and utter resignation at the ineptitude of his pathetic following. Just as Black was fumbling to answer, a high obnoxious voice began to sing.

"Oooh, nasty Riddle me this, naughty Riddle me that! Watch poor, bitty, botchy Black…squirmy like a rat!" Peeves sang out merrily, pausing to think of something that rhymed suitably with 'that'. The poltergeist's visits to the dungeons were mercifully infrequent, thanks in no small part to the presence of the Bloody Baron. His haunting in the place he loathed suggested that something worth Black's trepidation was occurring.

"Peeves? Do you know where Sinclaire is?" He asked calmly, holding Lupus by his tie.

"Nope, not me. Not the entire castlly wasally. All the head boysies and girlsies and ghosties out looking for ickle sinny-kins and she's nowhere to be found. What's ravishing Riddle want with sweet Sinclaire, anyway? Oooh, nothing naughty one hopes…" Peeves swooped down upon the two Slytherins, a delighted smile on his face.

"Why are you down here when you should be searching the castle with the rest of the ghosts?"

"Dumby wanted me to check on you, ickle widdle."

"Yes, I'm sure he did. Where was the last place anyone saw Sinclaire?" Tom murmured, dropping Lupus and turning to march down the hall. Peeves stuck his head through the wall to check the common room and then ducked back out, bobbing along beside Riddle and a severely chastised Black like an irritating hot-air balloon.

"Zabini saw her over in the south east wing earlier today," Black supplied, panting.

"How long ago?"

"An hour or so ago." Black replied, yelping as he sank up to his knee in the trick stair. Tom turned on him with a look of disgust, dodging Peeves as he zoomed past cackling.

"Widdle joins the chase!" The poltergeist shrieked obnoxiously to the heavens as he disappeared around a corner.

"Not how long has the _school _known, how long have _you _known? The collective you, Black, not the singular." Lupus trembled as he struggled to extricate himself from the stair, his fruitless efforts as pathetic as a fly trying to free itself from a spiders web.

"We've known for…a bit longer than that."

"And none of you had the presence of mind to tell me, then, did you? How typical. I want all of you in the common room tonight, Lestrange at the foot of the last staircase until I return. Am I clear?"

Tom did not even wait for an answer as he turned on his heel and whipped out his wand. The Slytherin Head boy was going to be searching for Sinclaire just like the rest of them, regardless as to whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.

~*~

THUMP. Maeve awoke with a start and blinked several times, confused by the absolute inky blackness. Then, she remembered and her heart sank. She'd been having the most beautiful dream gasped in terror and jerked her wand towards the sound, smashing her hand on a marble column and dropping the thin stick of wood that was her only light. She cried out in pain and dismay and went to her knees, her wrist aching as she felt around blindly. THUMP, THUMP, CLANG! Maeve gasped and stopped moving, curling against the freezing masonry.

"Go away!" She croaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. The fear was horrible, she felt physically sick and could do nothing more than cower in the corner. Whatever it was, it was coming down the hall towards her, knocking things over as it went. Maeve pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her whimper as what was now clearly footsteps came closer and closer. Footsteps that were trying to be quiet, trying to be sneaky as they approached from her left. _Whatever it is, oh please, Merlin, just let it kill me quickly. Anything could be living in this castle, it's bloody massive…they'd never find me. Not even Pringle, bloody useless janitor…_A light blinded her and a hand fell on her right shoulder. Maeve let forth an earsplitting scream and turned to strike the monster that had been lurking just around the corner. It grabbed her wrists as she nearly knocked it backwards with the force of her assault.

"Sinclaire! Stop! It's _me_, Sinclaire!" Maeve opened her eyes and struggled to hold back her tears as she realized the identity of her unlikely saviour. _Oh, not him. Please, please, please…anyone but him! _She squinted into the light at the darkly handsome face. Something scuttled in the darkness behind her and Maeve abruptly amended her last thought by thanking Merlin and the stars above that he _had _come.

"R-Riddle?" She stammered, blinking in the harsh light of his wand. Tom looked down at her in shock, loosening his grip on her wrists. He had to quickly readjust his grasp and hold her around the waist when she collapsed, trembling fiercely. In all his sixteen years of striking fear into the heart of others, never had he seen any of them more severely frightened than Maeve at this moment. So afraid that she would cling to _him _in her terror. It took him aback to see little smiling Sinclaire in such a panic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just…there was something watching me, and then I lost my wand and…I was so scared-" She panted frantically, chest heaving with shallow and uneven gasps. Her heart beat like the wings of a snitch against his own, a frantic and alarming rhythm.

"Breathe, Sinclaire! Your hysterical…breathe slowly, Sinclaire. _Slowly_." The little _fool_. If she didn't stop hyperventilating she was going to faint. How on earth had she gotten lost down here? He half-dragged half-carried her over to a nearby bench, sitting her down gently and kneeling beside her. One of her wrists looked badly bruised and he held it lightly in his cool fingers, examining it. Her entire body trembled like a leaf as she dragged in huge, sucking gulps of air.

He'd been curious as to why his tracing spell had indicated she was off in what he had assumed was outside the castle walls and that she had become completely still. Where the _hell _was that great, useless oaf Yaxley? She would have frozen to death down here in the cold. It was amazing how much that thought truly bothered him.

"Here," he shouldered out of his robes and wrapped them around her shoulders. "Just sit for a moment."

"No!" She snatched a hold of his sleeve and he jumped in surprise. "Er…I don't want you to…"

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms, waiting. She squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling idiotic. Nothing would dare to attack Tom Riddle, especially not when he had a wand. Maeve clamped her mouth shut and stared at the floor. Only Riddle was capable of making her feel this ignorant.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sinclaire. Here-" He pointed his wand at the cavernous black hole from which they had just emerged. "_Accio wand_."

No wand whizzed magically out of the blackness. Tom curled his lip and tried again, this time with an expression of fierce concentration on his handsome face. "_Accio!_"

"Maybe it's trapped underneath something?" Maeve mumbled apologetically, wincing at Riddle strode into the dark room and pointed his wand at the nearest wall bracket.

"_Inflamare!" _Torches around the room crackled to life and Maeve rose shakily to her feet and followed Tom inside. Her willow wand was nowhere to be found.

"We haven't got time for this, I'm afraid. The entire schools looking for you and we make a rather-" Tom smiled crookedly down at her. "-suspicious pair."

"Oh. How long have I been gone?" She murmured quietly, walking along beside him as they turned from the room. With a swift movement of his wand, the torches extinguished themselves and plunged the ancient room once more into interminable darkness. Maeve let out a small squeak of fear and gripped Riddle's arm, forgetting. Tom did not pull away because the contact was genuine, she truly feared the deep blackness that they traveled through. Insincerity, to say nothing of his own habits, was almost as great a sin as outright lying.

Besides, Tom relished the fact that Maeve had to hold onto him because of her fear. She wouldn't normally have clung to him in such an 'indecent' manner, and it pleased him immeasurably that he hadn't had to convince her to. Things went so much better when people just did the things he wanted them to of their own accord without realizing it. And by far, less painful for all involved.

"Unless my information is false, a few hours…enough for everyone to think that the monster of the chamber had taken another victim." Tom rolled his eyes and sighed. It was the conclusion everyone jumped to the second a first year was noted as missing. The child always cropped up somewhere eventually, but that didn't allay what could only be described as full-blown panic among the professors. As if he'd be able to set the Basilisk lose on anyone with Dumbledore watching his every move.

"Tom…" There was careful hesitation in her voice as she spoke and he slowed his pace to listen. "I'm sorry I thought you planned that…whatever it was on the Quidditch pitch. I just…I'm just trying to understand why your bothering."

"Bothering to what?" Riddle murmured, listening for the sounds of anyone close by. It really would be a bad thing if someone less than friendly caught them.

"To…pursue me like this. It's not normal for you, Riddle." Maeve sped up her pace to keep even with him.

"Must I always have an ulterior motive? Must I always be as calculating and cruel as you believe me to be? Even when I rescue you from the darkest pits of the castle you doubt me" Tom murmured tiredly, looking down at the little determined Ravenclaw where she was struggling to match his stride and stay within the safety of his wand's guiding light.

"Fine." She glowered at her feet in frustration and he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. She did not pull away and he was eager to do more than simply pull her close, but pushing Maeve in this fragile state was obviously not a wise choice. This small victory was enough for now, he conceded grudgingly.

"Oh, little viper, you have enough venom of your own without worrying about mine. So, how did you manage to lose that buffoon, Yaxley?" Surprising how his mood improved so drastically in her mere presence.

"I tried to get to Divination by using a more obscure route and got lost. Zabini slowed him down to ask him about something and I got away. Rafe's much better at stalking me, you know. Probably because I let him…Do you thin-Tom?" Maeve was forced to slow abruptly as he yanked her into a side passage. She had to stifle a yelp as he dragged her backwards into an alcove.

"_Nox_."

"Tom-" A hand clamped over her mouth as he pushed her further back into the niche, taking refuge behind a bulky suit of armor. Maeve trembled with fear, something could reach out and kill her and she'd never see it…

"Hush, Sinclaire. Someone's coming." His voice was surprisingly gentle(if a little patronizing)in the darkness, breaths soft against her forehead. Gradually, Maeve quieted as she felt the gentle lull of his heartbeat against her own. _Nice to know that he has one, I suppose. _This close, Riddle's skin was actually quite warm…and he smelled marvelous in a way that was difficult to describe. Like if their had been one smell for a human being geared perfectly to her own taste, it would be the scent of his skin…

A tiny sun was bobbing down the hall and a distracted humming could be heard. The circle of light lit up a few sleeping portraits who grumbled at the intrusion. Professor Binns ambled into view, looking spectacularly uninterested in life, per usual. Maeve knew it was trouble if Dumbledore caught them, but she couldn't understand why Boring Binns should cause them any problems. She briefly considered mentioning this to Riddle, but by that time, Binns was already shuffling around the corner and out of sight.

"Come on." Maeve, for once, was glad of the darkness that hid her disappointed expression from Riddle as he took her wrist and gently guided her out of the alcove.

How strange that even though he could not see her, it still gave him pleasure just to have her standing beside him, to have her slender little wrist in his hand. Possessing her was important to him, he'd come to realize. Besides, Riddle sniffed, it was not like she could do any better in this school full of idiots. It'_s growing tedious, too, all this bed-hopping…not to mention what a puerile pursuit it really is. _His 'research' had been sorely delayed by all this almost pointless manipulation…much easier just to-

"Your plotting. I can't see you, but I can feel you plotting." Her tired little voice muttered.

"Just thinking, Sinclaire. Plotting has rather more negative implications, don't you agree? _Lumos._" He raised his wand and illuminated the corridor, smirking and glancing down at Maeve. But instead of frowning at him, she was staring in horror at something straight ahead. He turned but was not quick enough and his wand sailed out of his hand and into the darkness. A blinding light popped into existence in front of them and lit a smile malevolent enough to give even Riddle a run for his money.

"Grisham?"

"Gotcha, Riddle."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Alright, you lot. So it's the witching hour and pouring rain and not a Thursday or Friday(which is when you seem to all get interested in actually reading. Yeah, I'm obsessed with the stats page.), but I'm posting this anyway. I am over the hurdle, ladies and gentleman, I have surmounted the gates of Mordor! That's a sleep deprived way of saying things get better from here on in because my characters have finally decided to DO SOMETHING. Oh, Luna's grand aunt makes another appearance(I think I'm going to keep her for a little bit), and everybody's favourite and faithful Fortunate, Rafe. The plot thickens and I'm pretty damn proud of this chapter, but see what you think. Review please, or I'll turn you into flobberworms…to tired for exclamation points and happiness…Really love the three dots, just in case you haven't noticed…(yay, pauses for dramatic effect).

_"Kisses are a better fate than wisdom."_ _**~ e. e. cummings**_

Headmaster Armando Dippet was not pleased. He shuffled around his desk to stand in front of it, just to prove that he was _serious _this time. Improperly dressed for the chastisement of students in his pin-striped nightwear, but he was determined that austerity would prevail where suitability of wardrobe could not. He just had to be firm this time, there needn't be cause for any punishment. Riddle was his favourite student, after all, and certainly the most gifted in the entire castle. Other students were just jealous of the boy and that was why he was implicated in all this trouble. It was disappointing that children would vindicate such an unfortunate soul as Riddle.

This business with the Sinclaire girl was worrisome, however. She'd been missing for hours from nearly all of her classes. To make matters worse, it didn't seem as though professor Merrythought could _remember _Tom being in his class for the final period of the day. It was just too suspicious that the missing girl would be found with Tom Riddle. _Really, it isn't the boys fault, he cant help it if he's popular with the young women. _Thought Armando, who like to think of himself as being such a chap himself in his younger days. His much, much younger days…_ But it really would help his case considerably if he was less of a heartbreaker…_No, he mustn't make excuses for him this time, though! Riddle had been caught red-handed, whether he wanted to believe it or not. He needed to remain firm and resolute, take Riddle aside and give him a stern talking to that he did not condone such loose behaviour…

Just then, the door to his office burst open as though a small, explosive device had been deployed just on the other side of it. Dippet jumped and dropped his wand, fumbling to snatch it off his desk as the two rule-breakers were unceremoniously frog marched into his office by that tall, strapping Ravenclaw head boy who he'd completely forgotten the name of. Their captor-what on earth was his name? Gatsby?- looked extremely pleased with himself as he stood directly behind them like a prison guard and kicked the door shut with a loud slamming sound. The headmaster's attention turned to the faces of the errant pair. Riddle bore an expression of careful complacency, as though he were trying very hard to be polite in company that was less than welcoming. The Sinclaire girl looked utterly exhausted, her shining golden hair hanging lank around her drawn features. She looked directly into her Headmasters eyes with an expression of desperate pain and pleading; her shoulder's tossed back awkwardly, like a bird's pinioned wings. _What on earth is that poor girl standing like that for…_On closer inspection, Dippet noted with great horror that the boy had bound their wrists.

"Here they are, Professor. I caught them skulking around in one of the fifth floor hallways-" The Ravenclaw preened, puffing out his chest like a young cockerel. Something black and angry flickered in Riddle's eyes and his lip twitched. This small and incriminating expression was lost on Dippet as he struggled to contain his outrage at this

"Yes, that _will do_, boy! Dear Merlin, you would have thought they'd committed high crime…that's no way to treat your fellow witch or wizard!" Dippet waved his wand at the bonds and they immediately dissipated. Tom's taut posture relaxed immediately and he set about rubbing his wrists to restore feeling, as unruffled as the wizard had ever seen him. Armando, however, did not notice as Maeve swayed on her feet and the remaining blood drained from her already peaked cheeks.

"Now, Riddle, if you'll just sit here…You can go back to your common room," He added to Graphman, considerably more charitable now that he was faced with the suddenly daunting task of disciplining Tom.

"Sinclaire, you can-" There was a loud '_fwoomp' _as Sinclaire collapsed to the marble like a marionette with her strings cut. Riddle jerked in a movement so quick that it would have startled Dippet all over again if he hadn't been preoccupied by the fact that the girl had just fainted. The Ravenclaw-looking alarmingly smug-acted quickly, gathering the damsel into his arms.

"Merlin's beard! Oh! Put her here…yes, that's right, gently." Frantic, Dippet conjured a couch and the young man set her down.

"Excuse me, Professor, but might I suggest the hospital wing-" Tom began, his voice as cool and polite as ever. Dippet's hands fluttered and he groaned internally, where was Dumbeldore? He said he'd take care of this…

"She's fine, _Riddle_. Does this all the time after a hard Quidditch practice, she just has a weak constitution. All she needs is a litle cold shower-" He prepared to cast a spell and Dippet made a desperate waving motion and grabbed the wand out of the boys hand.

"Orpheus Grisham!" The boys name crashed through Armando's subconscious and he glared at him. "Do not use a battering ram where using the door-knocker would suffice, boy! Let her revive at her own pace! Yes, give me that-" He snatched another wand out of the boy's hand, much to Grisham's frustration._ The lad has wands coming out of his ears…no, that one must be Riddle's. Where is-_

Even as he thought this, the owner of the lost wand was waking up. Maeve winced and pushed herself up on her elbows, her body trembling with the effort. Dippet breathed a sigh of relief and handed the young woman a goblet of water to drink. She nodded a quick thanks and gulped it down as greedily as though it were butter beer. Coughing slightly, she set it aside on the corner of his desk and sat up, a bit of colour in her cheeks.

"Professor, none of this was anyone's fault but mine. I got lost on my way to divination because I was trying to avoid _him_-" She made a careless gesture toward Gisham, whose mouth dropped open in shock. "Then I got lost back by the portrait of sir Wimpleton. It was dark and I just, well, I'm _terrified _of the dark…then I lost my wand. It was a good thing Riddle found me, sir, or I don't think I ever would have gotten out of there."

"That's not true!" Raged Grisham, looking beside himself with fury. Dippet stared at the three students, flabbergasted. Sinclaire had a reputation for being an extremely gifted student, in fact, more than one professor had described her as being Riddle's female equivalent. She was rarely in trouble and known to be an introverted but honest sort of girl. So how on earth had she managed to end up between Grisham and Riddle?

"What evidence do you have to the contrary?"

"I-you can ask anyone, sir! Riddle's been after her since the beginning of term and I found them _together_-" Orpheus spit out the word like it was a disgusting swear. "And you don't believe me!?"

"Sinclaire and I were doing nothing beyond the bonds of friendship, Professor." Riddle answered smoothly, his scholarly posture relaxing a notch as he turned his eyes on the girl. "However, Sinclaire is much more than merely pretty and as you can see by Grisham's impassioned defense, I'm not the only one to have noticed. The fact that I am attracted to her notwithstanding, we did not even share so much as a chaste kiss between the time that I found her and Grisham attacked us."

"Yes, well, if you can all find witnesses to verify your accounts-" Dippet squirmed uncomfortably behind his desk. He hated dealing with these kind of situations, he truly did. Just then, a saviour appeared and the door to his office(much abused in the past half hour) was opened peacefully and professor Dumbledore entered, followed by a small contingent of prefects.

"I believe I can provide those witnesses, Armando." The Transfiguration professors eyes were exceedingly sharp as they glanced at Riddle. Tom calmly took stock of who was here to defend him:

Rafe was clearly struggling not to fidget to much in the presence of such a sworn enemy as Dumbledore as he stood next to Zahara, who gave a lazy wink when she saw Riddle looking. Hattie Lovegood stood beside them and looked profoundly out of place, staring bemusedly at a portrait on the wall. Caoinin stalked in last, her eyes wide and her bottom lip pulled into a demure pout. O'Brien's attempts to look non-threatening had always made Tom laugh, it was something akin to watching a spider attempt to look cuddly. Now, it just irritated him and set him on edge. What was she doing here?

"Lestrange, where was Mr. Riddle from the time of two o'clock to five today?" Rafe's swiveled around and he opened his mouth to answer when Zahara interjected, her voice smooth as silk:

"I can answer that, professor. Riddle was with me in the common room during my free period, tutoring me for advanced potions. Slughorn can confirm that, if there's any doubt. I might add that I saw Sinclaire rushing down the hallway at about…oh, what was it, Maeve? Lunch time?" Zabini lied with a practiced ease, her gaze sliding lazily to Maeve's.

"Er…Yes, I think." Maeve muttered, cataloguing the half-truths in her head.

"Is this when you were supposedly evading Mr. Grisham?" Dippet asked her, but it was Caoinin who spoke.

"Oh no, sir. That was when she was running from Yaxley. Riddle asked him to keep an eye on Sinclaire and little Miss perfect couldn't stand it so she ran away. I can vouch for him being no where near Sinclaire all day." A long and uncomfortably tense near silence permeated the office. The only thing that disturbed it was Hattie Lovegood's absent-minded humming as everyone absorbed the implications of Caoinin's words.

Armando Dippet, for the first time since the Christmas pantomime disaster two years previously, wanted to cry. The answers had all seemed obvious until the girl presented an argument that was equally as realistic as the first innocuous theories. Either way, these students were trying to pull one over on him. Yet another reminder that he was in dire need of retirement. Helplessly, he looked at Dumbledore. But the man had eyes only for the terrified and trembling young woman, who looked fragile and alone in the sitting in the middle of the couch and wrapped up in Riddle's robes.

"Is there something you wish to tell us, Maeve?" Albus Dumbledore asked softly. The shivering became a violent shudder that wracked her frame. Then, she went rigid, coming to a decision. She raised her head, green eyes full of tears.

"Yes," She croaked in a barely audible voice. And then again, this time more strongly. "I just don't want him to be in trouble…"

"What is it, Maeve? What do you need to tell us?" Dumbledore's voice took on an edge and he knelt beside the girl. Everyone waited with bated breath, some in jubilation and some in horror for what she would say next.

"I just…I don't feel safe in the hallways anymore, professor. Tom goes to such trouble just to keep me safe, and I know Yaxley and Lestrange have much better things to do then baby-sit me." Maeve looked up at Riddle with an expression of blind trust that was almost too convincing.

"I'm sorry?" Dumbledore looked nonplussed.

" So that's why I was trying to get away from them. But he's always stalking…but I know you don't mean to be frightening-" Maeve looked up at Grisham and shuddered more violently, tears leaking down her cheeks. "But…I don't know what I'd do if they weren't there! in the common room it's awful I just cant get any studying done! I'm just so nervous all the time and-"

"That's a _lie_!" Caoinin shrilled, startling everyone from their reverie. "You lying, cheating cockroach!"

"Miss O'Brien, restrain yourself!" Dippet exclaimed ineffectually, to shocked to discipline her.

Several things happened at once after that. Firstly, Caoinin lunged at Maeve, her wand forgotten on the floor. Tom leapt up from his chair but Rafe got there first.

"STOP!" Dippet cried as Lestrange made a running tackle. There was a sickening crunching sound as they both crashed to the floor. Maeve jumped off the couch and retreated, sobbing desperately.

"Oh! You mustn't punish Grisham! See how furious she is? Caoinin, we could be friends-" Maeve appealed, holding out a hand to the enraged slytherin. The girl swore and struggled and spit like a thing possessed. Grisham marched forward with purpose-

"_Petrificus Totalus._" Dumbledore said in the calmest voice he could muster. The only thing still moving was the blood streaming from Rafe's broken nose. Dumbledore flicked his wand and the flow stopped, the bridge of his nose jerking back into place with an unpleasant crack.

Maeve's heart thundered and she struggled to keep up the tiny whimpering sobs. She could not believe that her lie was working, nor that O'Brien had acted in precisely the way she expected. And Grisham, Merlin, she'd been dieing to punish Grisham for ages. The way he treated her as though she were a piece of _his _property simply because they came from the same house and she was on _his _quidditch team. She felt empowered by the sheer might of her will, it was just so easy to manipulate them into believing her. She felt exhilaratingly, terrifyingly alive; like the night in the bathroom, when Tom had been so close to her. That plummeting, swooping high of life! This must be how Riddle felt all the time…it was hard to act so pathetic and subservient with the thrill of the ruse singing in her pureblood veins.

She felt a hand on her waist and one on her shoulder as Tom gently guided her against his chest, enfolding her in his embrace. The skin of his neck felt cool against her own and she shuddered gently, leaning into him. This was the second time tonight that Riddle had been so close to her and she was starting to relish it. Tom Riddle could give her this feeling, in his presence, she could share his freedom. She'd _lied _to the headmaster and Dumbledore, she'd virtually stood up to Grisham! Something deeply buried and venomous stirred in her breast, flicking it's forked tongue to taste dawning victory.

"I think that Sinclaire's been traumatized enough for one night, don't you, headmaster?" Riddle's velvet voice was like cool water over Maeve's fevered skin and she relaxed.

"Albus, perhaps we should let this alone until morning-" Dippet murmured worriedly, Sinclaire's eyes had taken on a glazed over and zealous look to them.

"In a moment, Armando, let me just speak to our last witness. Miss Lovegood?"

"Yes?" Hattie looked up for the first time, moving past a bored Zabini.

"Is what Ms. Sinclaire says true?" Dumbledore looked over his shoulder at where Riddle was holding Maeve close. It couldn't be described as a gesture of comfort, it was more like a chess player claiming his piece. The cold gray eyes were wide with feigned innocence, the expression infallible.

"Yes, you could say that. Orpheus fancies Maeve and he follows her enough to be quite annoying. He's always finding an excuse to be alone with her…Yes, she's telling the truth. Can we all go to bed now, professor?" Hattie yawned and smiled dreamily at Riddle and Maeve, waving to them.

"Armando, this is your decision…" Dumbledore sounded resigned as he waved his wand and released the three paralyzed students. Rafe scrabbled to his feet and got as far away from Caoinin and Grisham as he possibly could, a wild look in his eye.

Dippet wrung his hands and his shoulders sagged. He'd been hoping Dumbledore wouldn't say that…Agh! He'd become such a milksop in his old age! _Come on, Armando, bite the muggle bullet and get this over with!_

"I'm leaving it to your heads of house to decide your punishment. At the very least, it's a detention for you Grisham. And a serious talk about the…issues you seem to have with Sinclaire. If I hear anymore about this stalking business, well, be sure that Atlanata will hear about this. O'Brien, I'll be telling Slughorn about your attitude. Riddle…try to set an example as head boy, please. Yes, take your wand. We'll have to find a temporary replacement for yours, miss Sinclaire. Let this disaster be a lesson to you not to wander the hallways. Bed, all of you, before I change my mind." Dippet muttered in a defeated voice, running a hand over his bald head. There was the dull patter of feet as they trudged out of his office. Dippet had a sudden terrified thought and lifted his head, shouting to them: "And if any of you starts a dueling match in the corridor, you'll be expelled before you can catch your breath!"

The door had barely shut behind them before Dippet was reaching for his secret stash of Firewhiskey. In his history of long nights, this had been one of those that fell in the highly unpleasant category.

~*~

"I think that went rather well."

"Oh, shut up, Lovegood!" Grisham sulked viciously, his arms folded over his chest. Caoinin marched along beside him, an expression on her face like she'd just been forced to suck on a lemon.

"I'm inclined to agree with her, Orpheus. After all, things could always be worse." Tom Riddle's smile was elated as he helped Maeve stagger down the hallway.

"Worse?! Worse-"

"He means you could be in a lot of pain, or dead. Those can still be arranged, though, if your not satisfied…" Rafe murmured, his voice still mildly nasal as he mopped at the drying blood on his chin.

"Keep on like that and I'll break something else," Spat Caoinin. "And this time it'll be important."

"What would your mother say, O'Brien, if she knew you were dating a mud blood? I hate to think…I'll I'd have to do is tell my mother and you know what good friends they are-" Zabini began, their squabbling voices slowly fading down the hallway. Riddle gently guided his exhausted charge into an empty classroom and shut the door behind them. With a casual flick of his wand, the lock clicked.

"Thank you." Were the first words she said as he turned around. "I-"

Riddle took one stride forward, cupped the back of her neck deftly in one hand and her waist in the other…and kissed her. Ah, her lips were marvelous, even better than he'd imagined. Soft, sumptuous and perfect. She'd never kissed before, that was obvious. But if he just shifted the angle a little and varied the pressure of his mouth on her's-_There we are!_ Her mouth softened and followed his lead as he had hoped it would. He never knew with Sinclaire, she was a constant surprise. But it was comforting that even she couldn't resist the tried and true methodology of a good kiss. After that nightmarish run-in, Riddle needed this as much as she did. He felt her melt, her body slackening against his as the grip on his shoulders became more pronounced. Gently, he leaned her back against a desk; tipping her head back gently with a hand so he could feel her supple frame against his own.

He pulled away and then kissed again, drawing her lips up to follow his. Opening his mouth a little wider with each kiss, just to tease her until she was completely and utterly soft. He smiled as he pulled away for a final time and she followed him unconsciously, eyes still shut and yearning for the next touch of his lips. At the sound of his chuckle, her blonde lashes fluttered open, revealing those mesmerizing emerald eyes.

"Your welcome, Sinclaire. Advance praise for a kiss is always appreciated." Oh, he was absolutely keeping this one. Intelligence, beauty, guile and(if properly cultivated and encouraged to blossom accordingly)pureblood ambition. _She even has personality! _She took a deep breath and blinked several times as though she were waking from a deep sleep.

"That was my first kiss."

"That was the first time anyone's lied for me without my commanding them to beforehand." Riddle replied simply, brushing a silken lock of hair from her eyes.

"I'm amazed that they believed me," Maeve murmured, trying to look down. Riddle's hand at her jaw stopped her and he frowned.

"Lesson one: Keep your head held high, Sinclaire. You are proud of your blood status, are you not?"

"I-" Maeve was thrown by the change in topic but recovered quickly. "Of course I am!"

"So act as if you are proud. You need to-" Tom paused as she yawned, her mouth stretched in a small adorable 'O'. She realized quickly her error and clenched her teeth against another.

"I'm sorry!"

"No, no. You must be desperately tired. I'll walk you up to your common room, Pringle's bound to have extinguished some of the torches…" He took her hand, his fingers wrapping around her slender hand to grip it. She did not grasp his, however, but kept her fingers straight and stared at their hands dumbly.

"Yes? Is there something wrong, Mae-Sinclaire?"

"I just keep expecting you to laugh at me, I suppose. I don't know…your right, I'm exhausted." She yawned again and swayed on her feet, throwing out a hand to catch herself on a desk. Riddle rolled his eyes and gently nudged the back of her knees with his foot, she collapsed and he caught her, lifting her into his arms.

"Here. If we go at your comatose pace we'll reach Ravenclaw tower in time for breakfast." He carefully crept out of the classroom and started down the hall, her arms around his neck and her eyelids drooping.

"What does this make us, Riddle? The kiss…?" She mumbled, one hand sliding down to grip his tie. Tom considered this for a moment, searching for the right word.

"Allies, very close allies. A king and a queen sort of thing."

"Hmm, that's nice. Goodnight, Tom." Her smile stayed even as she drifted away on a sea of warm, happy sunset thoughts. Very distantly, so far away she was sure she imagined it; she heard his voice:

"Sleep well, Maeve."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**What's this?! An End Note?: **Damnation, I lost all my special paragraphs(which is code for 'formatting', I suppose.). Oh well, its not important. Alright, what did you think? Like the kiss, dont like the kiss? Personally, I had a mental FINALLY! SOMETHING INTERESTING AND BORDERLINE YAY HAPPENS! But that's just me. Yes, Tom's pov on kiss might be diappointing but when I tried to write what Maeve got out of that it was like a brief flatline on the heart monitor and we're back to cryptic mind gibberish. Ecstatically joyful, but not very readable/coherent. Hence, I picked the character who was still capable of thought to explain. Do you like the sweeter sided Tom? Because he was three days beating down nasty Tom with hug attacks before I could write this...goddess, I'm really not making any sense...I'll stop now before I hurt myself.

P.S. If anyone's interested or just really bored, my other fic is related to this(kind of like how munchkins and donuts are related.). I'd love a few more readers..please dont make me beg...I get all muddy when I grovel and beg...


	9. Chapter 9

**_Author's Note:_** AH! I apologize for the long wait! I have EIGHT different versions of this chapter and the computer crashed four days ago, a horse went lame (she's sound now, fingers crossed she stays that way!), and my mother's been psychotic! I'll try and answer you guys each individually on your reviews over the next few days, thank you for staying with me thus far! I hope this isn't a disappointing chapter for you, I ended up changing some things about it. We meet the younger lot of the sickening Weasley's at the end, which is a little superfluous but see what you think… Alright, I'll stop boring you…

_"Heaven hath no rage, like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." **~William Congreve**_

Kayne Dolohov admired his handiwork, rubbing the blood off his hand with the corner of his sleeve. A body lay before him in a crumpled heap, stirring and groaning feebly. It was fortunate that no one came down to this area of the dungeons, he could get away with so much more without witness's. Kayne cracked his knuckles in the dank, poorly lit corridor. Funny, but it had seemed like Yaxley's nose had been incredibly easy to break. He'd put up much less of a fight then Kayne had anticipated, but then again, it was tough to defend yourself under a body bind curse. Grendel Mulciber made a ghastly hacking sound from beside him and spit, rubbing his mouth.

"You lose any teeth?" Kayne grinned at the boy beside him, showing a gleaming row of his own. Dolohov had a feral appearance, purposely keeping his dark hair in disarray. Small, hooded green eyes under heavy brows glinted cruelly from his long face, his mouth a small, crooked slash. There was a dusting of stubble on his pointed chin, a pitifully poor attempt at a goatee.

"You could have been quicker about the damn bind, couldn't you?" Mulciber bent over, hands on his knees. He spat another globule of blood onto the floor mere inches from their quarries head.

"I was pausing for dramatic effect, like Tom does. Think I pulled it off?"

"I think you're a bloody git and I'd pull your ruddy head off, Dolohov. If I didn't like you so much, that is." Mulciber grinned at him and stuck his wand in his cavernous mouth, fixing a chipped incisor.

"Think he'll be pleased with this?" Kayne nudged Yaxley in the ribs with the toe of his boot. The boy cringed and winced, wheezing on the blood that trickled steadily from his split lip. One of his eyes was blackened and swollen shut.

"Well, it's not as good as a crucio. But luckily for you-" Mulciber landed a roundhouse kick to Yaxley's midsection and laughed when the boy cried out and rolled over onto his back, agonized breaths hissing through his teeth. "Stuff echoes down here, doesn't it? Plus, tortures Malcolm's speciality. But it's a shame to let such a good opportunity go to waste. Hmm, we should ask Riddle about-AH!"

"Speak of the devil." Kayne murmured, rubbing his forearm. The tattoo of a vulture was already fading from his pale wrist.

"Merlin, that smarts! Blimey, when do you think Riddle's going to perfect that beckoning charm?" Mulciber winced and clutched the phantom pain, the sensitive pads of his fingers feeling the black crocodile mark before it, too, disappeared. Everett gazed up at his attackers through a bleary haze.

"I don't know, but I don't want to be late. Finish him." Kayne nodded to Yaxley, suddenly nervous.

"Hey, Yaxley?" Everett, in his mildly concussed delirium, raised his head and looked into his tormentor's face. Mulciber's fat lips peeled back over teeth like row of yellow tombstones and he leered down. Whatever happened next, Everett knew he was about to endure as much pain as Mulciber could possibly deliver in so short a time-span and without the use of the torture curse. He curled tighter into the fetal position, hoping against hope that whatever blow struck, Grendel would remember that he wasn't allowed to kill or permanently maim. Mulciber grinned and pulled back one of his gigantic fists, clenching his massive fingers into a ball. Yaxley winced and closed his eyes as his head exploded with pain. The force of the blow smashed him back into the stone and he lay there as blood pooled between his teeth, drifting into blackness.

"This is so easy it's boring." Grendel muttered, shaking his huge head in disdain.

"Maybe if you'd taught him better, Mulce, he wouldn't be such a slacker." Kayne's grin dissolved into a frown and he nudged Yaxley over on his back, so that the body flopped limply.

" Come on, I don't want to keep him waiting."

~*~

Malcolm Nott gasped and his quill went wide of it's mark, splattering ink across his parchment as a crow appeared on the inside of his left arm. He slapped his right hand over it and grimaced at the continual burning sensation. Simultaneously, there was a thud from behind one of the bookshelves and the sounds of someone swearing vociferously. Vance Avery appeared from around the corner of the offending shelf, gritting his teeth in pain.

"He's calling us."

"No shit, Sherlock. Come on, put the books back and grab the list." Vance eyed the stack of books with a look that was equal parts caution and contempt, running a hand through his shortly cropped dark hair. It never frightened Riddle, what these books did to anyone who dared to read them. But then again, with he and Malcolm vetting book after book on the dark arts, their Lord Voldemort never had to suffer. Just last week, Vance had fallen asleep reading a book on blood and it's barbaric role in the most early and cryptic forms of magic. He'd groggily awoken to Malcolm shaking him frantically and trying to hex the book off his arm. Vance could still look down at the wrist opposite his jackal tattoo and see the tiny slices where the books hand-written script had bitten into his flesh and started to drain his blood. Literature in the restricted section was a bloody menace.

"What do you think this is about?" Malcolm shoved the notes into the pocket of his robes, shifting aside the pile of weathered manuscripts and letting the hover charm take over and drop them back on their shelves.

"I think it's about the Ravenclaw, that's what he's had the Fortunate after for the last two months. Running around like hounds after a fox, I cant believe he plans to make them part of our Order. If they're too stupid to outsmart a girl, for Salazar's sake-"

"Careful, don't underestimate the opposite sex. O'Brien can be spectacularly vicious. I always thought that if there was one girl who had the spirit to handle Riddle, it was her." Malcolm shook his head as they left the library, absently scratching his forearm.

"You were wrong, weren't you?" Vance scoffed, his lips turned down in a sneer. "Little fanatic got obsessed with Riddle, like they all do. This Ravenclaw'll just be another like her."

"After two months hunting? Use your common sense, Avery. He's thought this through long and hard."

"Yeah, long and hard being the operative words." Vance threw back his head and howled with laughter. Malcolm rolled his eyes and shot his subordinate a look of utmost disgust.

"Well, if that is the case, think of it practically: After we graduate and begin to subjugate the mud bloods and blood traitors, we have a duty to continue our bloodline." He spoke loftily, raising his golden blonde head nobly and sticking his nose in the air. Vance stopped laughing and gave him a bemused expression.

"Eh?"

"Avery, don't be stupid." Malcolm sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wracking his brains for an even simpler way to explain. "Purebloods are in abysmally short supply and we must preserve our families surnames if we wish to survive to become the superior race."

"Mate, you lost me at 'purebloods'."

"Marriage, Avery. To a pureblood woman who's capable of producing children." Malcolm snapped shortly, rolling his eyes. Foreseeing another boorish comment, he continued hurriedly. "_Legitimate _children who carry our last names."

"You could have just said 'broodmare'."

"And this is why your parents have you engaged to Hildegard Parkinson. You are, and always will be, narrow-minded and chauvinistic. If you continue, it'll be your downfall." Malcolm muttered, starting to get annoyed. Things could be done with class: killing, torture and manipulation just required a certain amount of dignity that many of Malcolm's fellows simply didn't possess. Nott detested Avery, but his patience was much better than Mulciber's and hugely superior to Kayne's. Rosier(the fifth and final Deatheater of their merry little band) simply couldn't be trusted with the responsibility of monitoring their youngest and most wild member. Bad enough that they each had a Fortunate to mentor without adding Avery as another mad dog that needed constant attention. At his best, Vance was a tolerable monster. At his worst…

"I say, old chap," Vance mocked, grinning viciously. "If I knew what chauvinistic meant, I might be offended. Come on, Hilde's not that bad…if you don't mind what they look like, of course."

"Sometimes your as bad as those two brutes, Kayne and Grendel. When they celebrated the Chamber of Secrets Incident-"

"I ate all the cake and drank half the bottle of fire whiskey. But really, Malcolm, give me a little credit: I'm much better looking then either of them." He broke off in the hysterical laughter of the severely unstable.

~*~

Everett Yaxley rolled on his left side, wincing in pain. Every synapse in his body seemed to have developed a keen and persistent ache. Something wet was dabbing his face gently and he heard a relieved sigh when he opened his eyes to stare at the greenly backlit blobs that hovered at the edge of his vision.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. Well, sleeping ugly is more like it, but you'll do." Someone chuckled nervously and he felt the persistent ache flare as someone squeezed his fingers. He blinked hard and looked into the face of Lupus, who was grinning half-heartedly.

"I was looking all over for you." _Rafe_? Yaxley's eyes slid with agonizing slowness to the other boys face and he raised one blonde, blood-encrusted eyebrow. What the _hell _was Lestrange doing here? He couldn't recall ever having two nice words to say to Riddle's most exalted sycophant and yet somehow, here he was, fussing like a bloody mother hen.

"Yeah?" Everett worked his sore jaw a few times before he continued. "You're a day late and a sickle short. But thanks for coming…mate." He took a rattling breath and flinched as the green wash cloth patted his forehead gently.

"Oh, dubious thanks! Well, I suppose it's the best you're going to get, Rafe. After all, he was missing for two whole hours before you noticed anything." A female voice quipped lightly from above.

"You mean two hours before that idiot Goyle boasted about having told the Deatheaters." Yaxley looked at Lupus, who was grinning gamely in the direction of whoever was tending to his forehead.

"Yes, well, Abraxas hit him with a nasty hex, didn't he? Justice served, at least on that front. Though you're loath to admit it, aren't the Deatheaters above your jurisdiction?" The cloth covered his eyes for a moment and Yaxley gave up, content simply to listen to the voice.

"They…outrank us, yes."

"Don't look so ashamed, Lestrange. I'm glad that Riddle's got a tight leash on the mad dogs, to tell you the truth. Sometimes I wonder if Riddle's protecting us from the crazed muggles and the unworthy, or from our own pureblood pyschosis. Even that Ravenclaw he's after these days is a little batty-" The voice continued with mock-cheer.

"Who is that?" Yaxley's neck screamed in protest as he craned it backwards to look. A cool hand replaced the wash cloth and pushed his head back down gently.

"Don't move, they hit you pretty hard. Your going to have to go see Madam Yarrow in the morning…I've done what I can and it's not nearly enough. What did you do to piss off my brother and that bloody monster, Grendel?" Everett blinked and focused on Gloria Dolohov's worried face. If Kayne was the personification of night, then Gloria was day. Dark chocolate hair fell in waves to her waist, tied back in a complicated bun. Her features were gentler by far then those of her brothers, her cheekbones high but with a gentler slope. Their eyes were the only feature that indicated a relation: sea green and with an uncanny piercing quality. Her lightly tanned brow was furrowed in concentration as she dipped the wash-cloth into the fountain and rang it out.

Everett sat up and rubbed his head, blinking in the soft green gloom as though it were bright sunlight. The common room spun a little in his vision and he grasped the fountain's edge and the back of the couch and heaved himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. It appeared as though the entire fifth through seventh year Slytherins were occupying the common room at the same time, lolling about on couches and speaking in quiet, excited whispers. Most of them were boys, but a few girls were in the mix as well, eager as ever for a glance of Tom Riddle before they went off to bed for the night. Yaxley searched the crowd for one in particular, nearly falling over when he was forced to step over a prostrate Wilkes. Rafe snatched Everett's elbow and kept him standing.

"Where's Zahara?" Yaxley felt pathetic for the whine, but he needed her.

"She's…er…well-" Lupus began, shutting up only when Gloria shot him a pointed look.

"I think she went off to bed early, Yax. I wouldn't worry about it, you'll see her in the morning." Rafe lied with a practiced ease, balking at the prospect of having to explain Zabini's utter disgust when they'd dragged Yaxley in from the hall. The sound of light footfalls announced the arrival of Blaene Selwyn, emerging from the boy's dormitory.

"Wotcher, you lot. How's Slytherin Houses favourite Yeti-Bloody hell! What the hell happened to you, Yaxley? You look like professor Kettleburn after he tried to introduce an Occamy to us last year-" There was a synonymous wince at the memory. The occamy in question had been fairly docile until the laying season, which had been the time at which the professor had created a lesson plan which focused chiefly on collecting the valuable silver eggs.

"Grendel Mulciber and my brother happened to him." Gloria murmured, rolling her eyes.

"Merlin, mate, you look dreadful! Here, have some tea." Blaene Selwyn, all short-cropped dark hair and long limbs, rushed over to pour Everett a cup, kissing Gloria on the cheek as he passed her. She smiled and preened as Blaene handed Yaxley the tea. Yaxley took it gratefully and hobbled over to an armchair by the fire, wincing. He'd barely seated himself when raucous laughter and shouting echoed through the cavernous common and the sound of stone scraping as the Deatheaters entered. The crowd of Slytherins fell into an uneasy silence.

"How do they always know?" Rafe grumbled resentfully, turning towards the racket that was vaguely reminiscent of squawking dire crows. Everett dropped his tea cup and paled, his lips turning the same shade as the ashen porcelain shattered across his feet.

"Come on, Everett." Blaene muttered darkly, helping him back to his feet. "Lets get you out of here."

Kayne came first, dragging Avery along by the scalp and grinning as the fifth year squealed in pain, clawing at the hand that held him. Grendel scuffled along behind, snorting like a pig and licking his fat mouth. Malcolm smiled contemplatively at Avery's predicament, as though he were considering how to make it much more painful.

"AH! Alright, ALRIGHT!! Let go, Kayne! You're going to break my bloody wrist!" Avery squawked, his arm twisted at an awkward angle behind his back. Dolohov grinned cruelly, parading Avery around by the wrist and ignoring the thin boys desperate mewling. Lupus turned his head away and winced and some of the Slytherins present shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Go on, Dolohov. Put our junior member out of his misery." Adonis Rosier materialized out of the shadows behind Kayne, his hands clasped behind his back and a delightfully wicked grin on his face. His slytherin tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned halfway and baring a creamy sliver of his muscular chest. His robes looked mussed and his normally slicked back chestnut hair hung over his eyes in crazed tendrils. He plucked his wand out of his breast pocket and used it tilt Avery's head back, looking at the boys mutinous expression. "Come on, Vance. Where's that devil-may-care smile?"

"Been fucking another mud blood, Rosier?" He spat as Dolohov released him, jerking away and shooting Kayne a nasty look. There was some nervous laughter from their audience that died too quickly to have been sincere. Adonis stepped back gracefully and placed his wand back in his pocket, the delighted expression he shot the watching horde setting of his good looks.

"Oh, of course. I take what I can get whenever I can get it. Anytime, anywhere and anyone." Adonis licked his lips like he was savoring something, a violent shudder running down his spine. "Besides, imperiused mud blood's are so delightfully…rebellious."

"You are disgusting, Rosier." Gloria spat, slapping down the bloody wash cloth and turning on him with a look of utter hatred.

"Oh, if you weren't Kayne's little sister-" Adonis carried on suggestively, his easy wink letting the older Dolohov know it was a joke, "The fun we could have, my buxom beauty."

"In your dreams, Adonis." She muttered, stepping back next to Blaene and a horrified Yaxley.

"Hang on, Selwyn. Where are you going with that scum?" Grendel called, sniffing through his snout-like nose. "Bring'im over here, I wasn't finished with his punishment."

"Bite me, Mulciber. I don't take my orders from you."

"Tom says he deserves a punishment." Grendel waddled over to Blaene, his face scrunched in a hideous expression, beady black eyes looking into his opponents with a reptilian cunning. More and more Slytherin's were slinking back, increasingly apprehensive. The four Deatheaters watched with fascinated and eager expressions.

"It will be a cold day in hell when I deliver someone to you to be punished, you lousy son of a troll." Blaene hissed in disgust and turned his back, helping Yaxley towards the dormitory. Grendel's lips twisted up into a snarl and he pulled out his wand, only to see three pointed back at him.

"Back off, Grendel. There's no reason for this to get violent. Let's just wait until Tom gets here and decides-" Rafe kept his wand trained on the other boy, looking nervous.

"What are you gonna do if I don't, eh? What if I do more 'en just hex 'em? What if I crucio 'im like he deserves? You gonna rat us out to the blood traitors? Eh, Lestrange?"

"What's going on here?" The cool, cutting voice of irrefutable reason asked from directly behind Grendel's hulking form.

"Er…nothing, my lord!" He shuffled out of the way as Riddle strode past, scanning his assembled housemates. Gloria stepped forward, looking incensed.

"Oh, there was most certainly something going on! I refuse to be downtrodden by your pawns, Riddle! I will not be threatened by this hideous-!" She looked too angry for words as she spat at Grendel's feet. Tom raised one dark eyebrow, glared down at her…and smiled.

"Nor should you be, Gloria. Forgive me, I've neglected the garden and it's grown a bit wild in my absence. Mulciber, do we need to have another 'discussion' about personal restraint? I would have thought one was more than sufficient. However, I do so loathe denying Malcolm an opportunity to improve upon his communication skills." Tom fingered his wand threateningly, his head cocked to the side. The giant, hulking Grendel hung his head in shame, severely frightened. Riddle turned and wound his way back through the scattering of followers, admirers, and hangers-on, moving with dangerous purpose. He stopped beside Rosier and looked up at the taller boy in a way that was almost boredom. "In fact, Malcolm could have the same conversation with you, as well, Rosier. Lateness will not be tolerated in the future, nor will the sullying of one's purity by consorting with mudbloods. Tonight, because I have better things to do then deal with your numerous inadequacies , I will be lenient."

Tom turned from a frantically obsequious Adonis and strode until the fire on the hearth was at his back and he could properly look every Slytherin in the eye. They watched him in awe, like serpents before their charmer, unblinking and mesmerized simply by his presence. This was the boy to lead them into a new age of blood purity and powerful magic. The secret ambition and cunning that every Slytherin hungered for was embodied in Tom Riddle, and apart from a few measly exceptions, each one believed that he could help them attain their cherished goals. He cared about them, cared for them and furthered their ideals. Tom Riddle executed every plan with the beautiful subtlety and calculating intelligence that they worshipped. And he knew it.

"Please, forgive me, all of you. I've been distracted these last few weeks and I haven't paid you the proper attention you deserve as my housemates. But I have not been idle, my friends. After much hard work and deliberation, I have decided that sacrifices must be made to further our progress. The Fortunate, though they have served me well, must be dissolved." There was a great outcry at this, followed by immediate silence when he lifted his hands to quiet them. "Four Deatheaters are a tiny number and you have all, especially the Fortunate, shown me that you are loyal beyond compare. I wish to reward you for this loyalty: There is a place for you in the ranks of the Deatheaters if you can prove your usefulness to our cause." The excitement in the room was palpable: Rafe looked deliriously happy, Abraxas smug and Black beaming. The rest of the boys could barely contain their joy, even the few girls looked enthused. "This proving will take place after the Christmas holiday-"

"Is there a place for women in your new order? Or was sexual equality not on the agenda?" Clear and cutting, Caoinin's voice sliced through his own. They turned to look at her, parting to allow her through. She tossed her blue-black curls, beautiful face a harsh white in the gloom.

"There's not a place for blood traitors, O'Brien." Rafe spoke up, his protest a ragged snarl as he turned down his nose at her. There was a chorus of agreement cut short by Cao's reply:

"Just because I never barked up your tree, Lestrange, is no reason to get your knickers in a twist. And I wasn't asking you, I was asking my Lord. Because you know he's saved a spot for his latest girl on his left. Haven't you all heard about Maeve Sinclaire? His favourite, his dearest _little viper_-"

"BLASPHEMY!" Rafe shouted, lunging against Abraxas's restraining arms.

"I'll take care of it." Malcolm sighed rather tiredly, pulling out his wand.

"No, that's quite alright. O'Brien's concerns deserve to be addressed and my unorthodox behaviour explained to everyone." Tom murmured calmly, rolling his wand over and over in his fingers and carefully ignoring Caoinin's triumphant expression. "Slytherin, while being the noblest house of Hogwarts, does not attract every pureblood that is worthy of our cause. There are a hidden few that are hugely important to the survival of true magical talent and I encourage you to seek them out as I have. Surely, you all recognize Sinclaire as a pureblood surname, yes? It is important to make inter-house alliances, especially with those who show obvious intelligence and worth to the cause. Are you happy now, Cao dearest?" Tom stared into the artic blue eyes with a steady intensity. He felt mildly repulsed by the longing he saw in her eyes, the pleading.

"That doesn't answer my question: Female Deatheaters. Ignoring for a moment my fleeting physical interest in a half-blood, I'm just as magically capable as that idiot Avery-"

"Hey!"

"-twice as intelligent and at least three times as mean. You've never been one to ignore women's _talents _Riddle. And I, for one, would like to have a witches wand in the potion that is this grand plan for blood supremacy." Caoinin finished with fervor, her wild smile alight with conviction.

"You seem as determined as ever to prove your usefulness," Tom allowed quietly, his voice empty of any emotion. "However, I doubt your motives and your dedication."

"_Enough_." Caoinin spoke in a dangerously low voice. "I've had enough of your holier-than-thou attitude. You know and I can prove that I'm better than her. Let me. Just being committed in mind to the pureblood ideals aren't enough, I want to see her prove it."

"I'm assuming that you will not be content until you have challenged Sinclaire to a duel and made a fool of yourself in front of the entire house, is that what you are asking? Or are you merely pleased with sowing chaos and ill will? Everyone feels jealousy, Caoinin. Some of us have the sense to retain our dignity rather than act upon it." Tom looked emotionless, gray and cold as steel. Caoinin flinched slightly, but her worshipful gaze did not waver. "Female Deatheaters? Their usefulness and certainly their temerity would not surprise me. Of course I will allow it, under the condition that she who wishes to fight must be willing to duel against the rest of her order to gain entry, regardless of their sex and magic ability. Am I quite clear on this point?"

There was a long silence in which the only sounds that could be heard were Grendel's snuffling breath and the quiet burble of water. Everyone kept snatching glances at Caoinin, surprised that the wounds from such an ancient and long dead relationship were still so fresh and raw. It was ridiculously shameful that she would dare drag something so personally painful, such a failing on her part, into the light like this.

"I _will _duel her. I _will _win." Caoinin turned on her heel and marched towards the girls dormitory.

"You _will _continue to be harder to get rid of than a nasty infestation of chizpurfles." Adonis called out at the last second, causing the common room to roar with laughter. Caoinin's shoulders tensed, but she stormed down the steps and out of sight.

"_Defaceo spurus sanguis_!" Malcolm called out.

"Purge the impure blood! Meeting adjourned." Kayne chuckled throatily, still pounding Adonis on the back for his excellent comeback.

"Get thee back to your dormitories, recruits." Avery laughed, mimicking a marching motion. Grendel thumped him hard on the head, glaring menacingly.

"What was that 'Get thee back-' rubbish? Don't be-"

"Come on, Mulciber. Positive reinforcement, violence is not the answer." Adonis interrupted, tousling Vance's wild brown hair. Avery made an annoyed sound and squirmed out from under his hand, glaring. Kayne biffed Vance hard in the side of the head and laughed heartily.

"Pray tell, what _is _the answer, Rosier?" Malcolm muttered, already fairly certain of the reply.

"Riddle just told us. The answer, my friends, is women."

~*~

"God, I'm freezing." Orion Weasley smiled at his girlfriend, Anya Mckinnon. Rubbing her shoulders, he clutched her closer. The platform to get onto the Hogwarts express was crowded with students, the sounds of stamping and shouting deafening in the winter chill. Their breath escaped into the frigid air in white plumes, and Anya's teeth chattered despite her thick, yellow and black scarf. She shoved her hands in the pocket of his coat, trembling desperately.

"Yes, well, as soon as you two get on the train you can find your own cozy compartment for yourselves, eh?" Another red head bobbed up alongside and ruffled her long dark hair, grinning impishly despite the chill.

"Shut up, Fiske." Orion rolled his eyes and tried to move her out of his brother's reach, only to shift her into the trajectory of yet another relative.

"You'll love a Christmas at the Burrow, Anya!" Cousin Muriel appeared at her elbow, beaming.

"There's nothing quite like being jammed into a tiny space surrounded on all sides by friends and family. You stay nice and warm, absolutely no secrets or privacy. Best way to spend the holidays, if you ask me." Fiske continued unabashedly, dodging his brother's be-mittened fist.

"Has anyone seen Lionel?" Anya asked in an effort to change the subject before the brothers playful disagreement became a brawl.

"Yeah, he's over there." Fiske made a dismissive gesture towards where the older Weasley brother was silhouetted against the scarlet engine, grimfaced as he herded Gryffindor first years onto the train.

"What's he doing?"

"He's brooding about the Slytherins and their wild conspiracy to take over the world." Fiske snorted dismissively and Orion heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"There's a Slytherin conspiracy?" Anya's eyes widened in surprise and her shivering abated slightly.

"No, of course not, he just thinks there is. After all 'How else can they beat us for the House cup every year?'. That's not even the half of it, either. He thinks Slytherin and Ravenclaw are somehow working because of this _one_ girl-" Orion shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Oh joy, he's got another theory to tell us."

Lionel, finished with his responsibilities, forged through the tightly packed students until he reached his brothers, frowning. He nodded to Anya and launched into the tirade he'd been preparing:

"Fiske, look over there! This is the connection I've been searching for! _Riddle_ is _outside_, I tell you!" He hissed, the pompom atop his green wool hat ruining the seriousness of his expression.

"Yeah, he does that sometimes. I expect its kind of boring staying cooped up in that crypt of his all the time." Fiske yawned. "Tell me when he starts to do something interesting, like pick off a few first years. Tell me you remembered to take a head count?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Anya, you understand the significance of this-" Lionel seized her arm and dragged her over to a break in the crowd. "Look at who's with him!"

Anya brushed a dark stand of hair out of her eyes and looked. Tom Riddle stood at the edge of the platform, dressed in a long, shabby black coat. A silver and green scarf wrapped around his neck, flapping in the wind. His handsome, angular face was cold and remote, perfect lips drawn in an impassive line as he oversaw his housemate's departure: Abraxas Malfoy was holding a big blonde boy's crutches as Gloria Dolohov helped onto the train, little Slytherin first years milling around his ankles and guided rather unsuccessfully by a strained looking Rafe Lestrange. All in all, none of it looked out of the ordinary to Anya, just a glimpse of a strangely purist house that she would never be accepted by for her mudblood status. Fascinating, but not different. She turned her head to tell Lionel so but he squeezed her shoulder and gestured wordlessly with a jerk of his head. She looked up and what she saw startled her.

Riddle had been standing in a way that had obscured the slender girl from view, but as he turned to her and Grendel Mulciber moved aside, Anya saw that she was none other than Maeve Sinclaire. Though the Hufflepuff didn't know her personally, she knew enough: Maeve was well-known for being reserved, with the snobbish pureblood mentality but enough sense not to show it in a house full of mudbloods. Until recently, most of the other Ravenclaws had regarded her as 'quiet but nice'. However, if the rumors were true, there had been marked change in her behavior over the past few months. She'd grown reclusive and anger and mistrust had replaced indifference and shyness. People had seen her speaking with Slytherins and Mad Hattie Lovegood more and more than with her fellow Ravenclaws. When had the changes begun? Speculation revolved around how the dashing head boy had rescued her from certain death on the Quidditch field and the 'relationship' that everyone had suspected to blossom. Anya had thought it was all rubbish..until now.

Her head came to about Riddle's shoulders, long, golden blonde hair loose beneath a Ravenclaw hat. She looked up at Riddle with an expression that was half-reverence half fear. He said something to her and she shivered in a way Anya was sure had nothing to do with the cold. Tom straightened, reluctantly releasing her. It was almost too subtle to catch, but he locked eyes with Lestrange. Rafe nodded and followed Sinclaire onto the train.

"Merlin, Lionel, your right!"

"I know I am, now let's-" But before he could finish speaking and pull her away, Anya felt a presence behind them. Lionel turned her slowly and she faced two tall, Slytherin boys. One was fifth year she'd seen ferreting around in the dungeons, brown hair a frantic mop atop his head. The other was lean with aquiline features and a nasty sneer. He spoke:

"Can we help you and your little Hufflepuff, Weasel?"

"We were just getting on the train, Dolohov." Lionel positioned himself in front of her, and she watched his right hand twitch back towards his wand.

"Didn't your filthy muggle mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare, Mckinnon?" The smaller of the two snapped at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and glaring.

"Lionel, let's leave." She begged, dragging him by his wand hand towards the train.

"You leave her alone, you purist bastards!" Kayne and Avery whirled, only to find themselves surrounded by Weasley's on all sides. Avery snarled and pulled out his wand but Kayne caught his wrist.

"Now, now. No need for this to get nasty, I wouldn't want to spill any over her filthy blood anyway. Just remember to mind your own business in the future, Weasels. We wouldn't want anyone hurt." The two of them slunk away as the train whistled and began to pull out.  
"Come on!" Muriel stuck her head out a window and waved to them as the leapt inside as the train began to pick up speed and pull away from the station. Anya didn't look out the window until they were safely esconced in a compartment. A shiver of cold seemed to shoot through her bones as her frightened gaze met eyes the colour of a storm cloud, glaring from a face that was more handsome than it had a right to be. In that moment, before Orion pulled the blind and hid the boy from view, Anya Mckinnon pitied Maeve Sinclaire.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**!!! That noise was my writer's block dieing. I apologize sincerely for the huge delay, but I've been working on a variety of different things(Assassins Creed II came out and I discovered Dan Brown, who is now my hero) including delving a little deeper into Maeve's life and finding a plethora of awesome plot devices whilst doing so. I have difficulty reigning in my tangents(i.e. last chapters fail. That might be rewritten because I didn't edited it properly and Caoinin got away from me a bit.) In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I toyed with it A LOT because I couldn't get bits of it to fit into one chapter without short-circuiting your poor brains so I split it into two more manageable parts…

"'_Whomever I touch, I send back to the earth from whence they came.' said the snake. 'But you are innocent and true, and come from a star…You move me to pity, you are so weak on this earth made of granite.'"_ **~Antoine De Exupery, **_**The Little Prince**_

"There's something not right about it, I'm telling you."

"Orpheus, mate, your losing your marbles. We know you don't like the fact that you lost the girl to the Head Boy but that's life. Get on with your own and stop dwelling on it, for christ's sake!" Ralph Clearwater frowned at his essay and tapped a sentence with his wand, removing it from the parchment so he could rewrite it. Barnaby Barkridge lolled in a loveseat next to the fire, using his wand to rearrange the stars on the enchanted ceiling, clearly bored by the whole issue.

"But she was _mine_! I had it all planned out an everything…I mean, clearly, Riddle doesn't care about her, does he? Not really! I thought women wanted to be cared about." Orpheus was taking up the whole couch, a fevered look in his eyes as he appealed to the dark haired boy pouring a cup of tea in the corner. "Davies-"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Grisham. It's not like you give a dragons backside about Sinclaire either, you just want to get in her knickers." Triton Davies grumbled, swallowing the pitifully tiny cup of tea in one gulp and going back for another.

"Bite your tongue, Davies. Don't be jealous of me just because she never bothered to give a _someone _the time of day because both _his _parents were muggle-borns. As if you wanted more from her than I do." Orpheus snapped vengefully. The loud sound of the tea cup breaking as it hit the floor gave him perverse satisfaction.

"Yeah, I wanted more from her. The difference between you and me is that I had the decency not to expect it." Triton snapped bitterly, turning to head back to the dormitory.

"Oooh." Barnaby chuckled, yelping when his mouth suddenly transformed into a giant zipper.

"She isn't Riddle's and it's not fair. It make's me sick to my stomach when I have to watch that snake put his hands all over her." Barnaby and Ralph exchanged a brief glance. Riddle and Sinclaire's relationship so far really hadn't been that intimate, even via the grapevine there wasn't an indecent deed worth gossiping about. One could even go so far as to say that, apart from an occasional kiss, Tom and Maeve were boring.

"Grisham, listen to yourself." Ralph rolled up his parchment and unhexed Barnaby's mouth. "She's been dead to the entire house since before she even came to the school. Her crazed sister's rampantly pureblood attitude ensured that. You only see us talk to The Pureblood Princess when we have to and you don't see her complaining. Maeve stays out of our way and we stay out of hers. Face it, the only reason you kept her on the Quidditch team after Sean Quirke left to play for the Arrowheads was 'cause you fancied her, everyone knows that-"

"She's a damn good chaser, though, Ralph. You cant argue with beauty, brains and skill. Even if she's part-girl, part-basilisk." Barnaby interrupted, his eyes never leaving the rude constellation he was charming out of the ceiling. Ralph shot him an exasperated look.

"None of that matters, don't you understand? She shamed me in front of Dippet and Dumbledore! I wont tolerate that kind of treacherous behaviour…besides, I have her wand."

"You _what_?! Are you bloody mental, that's stealing!" Barnaby fell off his loveseat and the stars all whizzed back to their original positions as he righted himself, staring at his Quidditch captain in horror.

"No, it isn't. I followed her that day she tried to get away from Yaxley, she left her route right here on the table and I wanted to talk to her where Riddle's lot wouldn't interfere-"

"You're telling me you stalked Maeve Sinclaire until she panicked and dropped her wand and then you stole it so she'd be weaponless just so you could _talk _to her? Do you know how creepy that sounds, mate?" Ralph stared at him aghast, frightened and a little disturbed by the depths of Orpheus's strange obsession.

"Don't make a mountain out of a niffler hole, Clearwater. I'm not the villain, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm going to give it back to her tomorrow night, anyway. After we talk…" Grisham muttered, scrubbing a hand through his dark curls and avoiding the other boys gazes.

"Sometimes you astound me, Orphy. Do you have any idea how hard it'll be to get that wand back to her with Lestrange, Dolohov, Rosier and Nott all breathing down your neck? Their wont be enough of you left to block a sink if, Merlin forbid, Mulciber shows up. They _will _beat the living daylights out of you if you even so much as look at her wrong, you know that? And not because he tells them to, either. Because they've been unleashed, unhinged upon an unsuspecting student body. Riddle's just taken fire and directed it, channeled it for his own purposes. The Fortunate are a force of nature unto themselves.

Just listen to the school motto: Nunquam tittilanus draco dormiens, mate. Never tickle a sleeping dragon. Live to fight another day and let little Sinclaire alone. At least 'til Riddle gets bored…are you listening?" Ralph reasoned, astonished by the single-minded stupidity of his friends plan of action.

"No." Orpheus muttered stubbornly, examining Maeve's delicate wand. "She's alone every night when she comes back to the common room."

"Don't go there, Orpheus. Just give me the wand and I'll give it back to her tomorrow, they aren't threatened by me-" Ralph pleaded desperately, holding out his hand. Orpheus snatched the wand back against his chest and gave him a black look.

"_I _took it, _I'll _give it back. She'll probably thank me for it, too."

"Well, I'll tell her that you found it tomorrow so she can ask you for it and-"

"Piss off, Ralph. I'll tell her myself. And if you want to continue to be a beater for Ravenclaw, you'll keep your mouth shut. The pair of you." There was something flat and angry about Orpheus's normally cherubic face that made him appear ghoulish in the eyes of his two suddenly terrified friends. "Got it?"

"Yeah, mate…I'm just going to go up to bed now. Are you coming?" Ralph edged crablike around the couch, casting Barnaby a pointed look. The other boy surged to his feet, looking relieved.

"G'night." He muttered, nodding to Grisham and rushing up the stairs after Ralph. As they hurried past Davies brushing his teeth in the stairwell, Barnaby leaned in to whisper in Ralph's ear:

"Mate, is it just me or has the Slytherin girl started to wear off on him?"

~*~

In the highest girl's dormitory in Ravenclaw tower, Maeve dreamed silently above them. Her eyes flickered behind their lids as she relived memories she'd worked so hard to forget. Her lips pulled in a tight line and she rolled over on her side, assailed by a vision of her childhood:

Brilliant sunlight trickled through the twisting rose vines as they wound themselves a decorous canopy over the young witch who sat beneath. Shadows dappled Maeve's face where she reclined on the cool marble bench, running her fingers over the gauzy white fabric of her dress and looking out at her Aunt's lush garden. She was much younger then, maybe six or seven.

She looked over her shoulder and through a rowan bush at her parents. They were watching Arria perform some small charm, regally detached from their surroundings and each other. It was the elder daughter that lived to please them, that longed for their love and approval. Maeve knew that it was pointless to expect parents who didn't love one another to be selfless enough to truly adore something that was half their loathed spouse. So, instead of vying for their sparse affection, she watched Cassandra Pythia Sinclaire expertly plant bouncing bulbs in the empty bed beside a flutter-by bush, straight dark hair tied back in an expert braid.

"You should go sit with your parents. Your mother thinks I'm mad and my brother doesn't trust me, you know that." Cassandra's voice was clear but gentle, pleasing both in tone and volume. Maeve hopped off the bench and went to sit closer to her, careful to keep the creamy white fabric of her robes free of soil.

"If they _really _cared, they'd come make me sit with them." The inquisitive little green eyes rolled in their sockets, the tiny pink lips parting in an exasperated sigh.

"Aldebaran, how did you get to be so much smarter than your sister?" Cassandra laughed, brushing soil off her hands.

"Why do you always call me by my middle name, Cass?"

"Because that's what _I _named you, Little Follower." Cassandra set aside her trowel and beamed, reaching out to brush a forefinger across the bridge of her favourite niece's nose. "Legilmency isn't a difficult skill to learn for a Sinclaire woman, my dear. Your Malfoy mother didn't have the Occlumency to block me then, and she doesn't have it now. So, I got to name my favourite niece. Because one day, you will follow someone great into a new age of knowledge."

"How do you know?"

" I have my tricks." Cassandra laughed and touched a plant gently with her wand. "I always told my brother he would marry a witch who he hated and a witch who hated him, that they would have a daughter with extraordinary talent who would-"

"Arria." Maeve pointed out, tracing shapes on the small granite outcropping she perched on. Cassandra stood so they were on the same level and smiled coyly, placing a small, pink tea rose behind Maeve's delicate ear.

"That they would have a daughter with extraordinary talent and intelligence who would enchant without a spell or potion the most gifted wizard of the age. She would become his most trusted and loyal follower…" Her face fell suddenly and she broke the focused gaze, leaning forward and brushing her lips against Maeve's forehead in a way that was nervously fervent. The little girl smiled and sighed into her aunts throat, leaning back to grin into the woman's worried hazel eyes.

"Arria will be a queen then, wont she? Because she's much more talented then I am already…did you see my future, auntie Cass? Will I be happy?"

"I hope so, Aldebaran, Whatever you decide, I hope you are happy." Her aunt murmured evasively, her tone sounding slightly choked. Maeve seemed not to notice the distinction, looking in the direction of her parents.

"Will I love the man I marry?"

"No, but you will love the man who does marry you." Cassandra murmured, trimming a flutterby bush, a wry smile spreading across her lips.

"That doesn't make any sense." Maeve murmured, fingering the blossom at her ear. Cassandra knocked her hand away and readjusted the bloom, shaking her hear.

"No, it doesn't make sense _yet_. But it will, don't worry about it…yet." The two laughed together as they strode from the garden, hand in hand.

Maeve jerked awake, panting and horrified. She hated dreaming of her aunt, the aunt that had been driven mad by visions of an uncertain future. She sat up so quickly she bashed her head on the corner of the coffee table. Hissing in pain, she reached up and tentatively poked the budding bruise and winced. She rose shakily to her feet and dressed, padding down stairs to the common room and lying down on the couch. The terror was much less prevalent in the morning light. Maeve sighed and leaned back, just for a moment-

"Hello." Two large, protuberant blue eyes blinked down at her hopefully.

"AHH!" Maeve screamed and fell backwards over the couch, landing with a thud on the sapphire carpet. She blinked dazedly up at the figure before her, clutching her now thoroughly aching skull.

"Good morning, Maeve. Would you like a cup of tea?" Hattie Lovegood stood there innocently, proffering the tea tray.

"Merlin, Lovegood! You cant keep creeping up on me like that, it's terrifying." Maeve gasped, rising unsteadily and taking the teacup. Half of the liquid ended up in the saucer and she clinked the gilded edge of the cup on her teeth before she could get the soothing mixture of rosehip and chamomile down. She needed to focus and get a grip, she couldn't just go off into a fantasy this early in the morning. Maybe it would help if she told Hattie about it, just to get the ridiculousness out of her system…and look like a weak little idiot by doing so. No, she wouldn't mention it.

"I just-" Maeve hesitated and smiled at Hattie plaintively. "Wanted to ask you if my hair looked alright this morning?"

"Oh, yes I suppose it does, maybe a little brushing would help-" Hathor Lovegood mumbled, applying her wand tip to a few snaggles. As she was hovering, Ralph Clearwater trudged down the steps of the boys dormitory in pinstriped blue pjamas. He glanced at them with a sightless and bleary indifference.

"Good morning, Ralph!" Hattie declared brightly without turning around, a smile appearing on her face. Maeve struggled to present the same sparklingly optimistic façade in an atmosphere where the only reason for the lack of social tension was the fact that Clearwater was hardly conscious enough to let the antipathy shine through.

"Grggh? Wherza tea?" Maeve flicked her borrowed wand at the tea tray where it was perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. It whizzed onto the cart he was standing in front of and he smiled sleepily.

"Thanks, Queen Slyth-Sinclaire." He corrected himself quickly, shaking his head at the drowsy lapse.

"I know you call me Queen Slytherin, Ralph. I've known it for weeks and for your information, I think it's ridiculously unimaginative-" There was a loud, angry pounding sound on the other side of the door to Ravenclaw common room and the sounds of raised voices.

"And yet, somehow it's extremely appropriate. I do believe your handmaidens and your honour guard are going to huff and puff and blow the bloody door down. Stupid gits couldn't answer a riddle to save their lives." Ralph snorted into his tea and gestured towards the exit, rolling his eyes.

"But they all answer to a Riddle, don't they?" Katelyn Boot trotted down the steps in her satin robe like she was a debutante instead of merely an annoying roommate. "They'd as soon help you down the steps as chop you into little pieces, Mae. But run along, go live on the edge of respectable socie-"

"Be quiet, you dirty little muggleborn." Maeve snapped turning on her heel and marching towards the door.

"See you in History of Magic?" Called Hattie as Maeve reached the door and threw it open.

"Good morning, beautiful." Maeve's heart sank as she saw who'd come to escort her this morning. Adonis Rosier beamed down at her with a persistently hungry expression, his hands in the pocket of his robes. He leaned around the corner and smiled at Hattie. "Morning to you, too, Lovegood."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin we're already late to breakfast!" Gloria Dolohov pushed past him and snatched Maeve's elbow, dragging her over the threshold. Maeve waved hastily in Hattie's direction, smacking her elbow on a marble column in her haste and snatching her arm back in pain.

"Oi, I was busy making a pureblood alliance!" Adonis complained loudly as they took off towards the great hall, Maeve struggling to keep up with Gloria's furious pace.

"Pureblood alliance my arse, must you attempt to sleep with everything that breathes? Couldn't you at least wait until we don't have work to do? Not that your any trouble, Sinclaire-" Gloria gave her a wary look that had nothing to do with her charge's feelings and everything to do with what Tom would say if he knew she thought that his most important conquest was a bother.

"Please, I don't see why you cant just call me Maeve." Maeve muttered, jerking her arm out of Gloria's grasp and rubbing her wrist.

"Don't take it personally, she's not even on a first name basis with me." Adonis chuckled, wrapping a muscular arm around Maeve's birdlike shoulders. Gloria made a face and smacked his wrist with her wand.

"AH! DOLOHOV!! Ouch, what the hell was that for?!" The horny Slytherin gasped, clutching his injured arm and hissing in pain.

"You keep chatting her up and Tom'll make sure that it falls off. And I'm not talking about your arm, you oversexed git." Gloria rolled her eyes and snatched Maeve's wrist again, pulling her along and exasperatedly glancing heavenward. "And don't kid yourself Sinclaire, we cant be friends."

Maeve sighed miserably and followed the pair of Slytherin's down to the great hall. As usual these days, she tried to ignore the glances she kept getting from people who'd never noticed her before. Some of them were wary, some nasty and most envious. _Though I don't see why they envy me, it's not like my life is suddenly made. It just _looks _like it is._ She thought uncomfortably, waving at a little Gryffindor first year who shied away as Adonis stalked past, shooting the tiny nemesis a vicious smile. Lionel Weasley snatched the little boy back and sneered at the Slytherin in response, giving Maeve a blank look as she shouldered past him.

"Sinclaire." He said with a nod. Maeve stopped, shocked that he was speaking to her. Gloria gave an extra yank and pulled her past him into the great hall. She heard Adonis accost him as he followed them in("Piss off, Ginger."), and tried to glance back, confused.

Those blood traitors never had two nice words to say to her, so why was Lionel bothering to greet her? Granted, it wasn't like he was Septimus, the muggle-lover who'd publicly denounced her by saying he'd never marry a silly, foolish little pureblood zealot. That he wouldn't marry her just because they'd been betrothed since she her _birth. _Septimus claimed that he'd rather _die_…Fury rose in her chest and she dismissed her curiosity over Lionel's unorthodox behaviour quickly, before it could manifest itself into a foul mood.

"Ah, Sinclaire. Good morning." _Still stuck on the last names. _She hadn't exactly expected him to suddenly start calling her Maeve, had she? Appropriate, since they'd been 'dating' for three weeks and still, she knew nothing about him. She took a seat beside Tom Riddle, as much because it was expected as because she felt press-ganged into it.

"Good morning, Tom." She murmured, looking up into the intense gray eyes that were riveted on her face. This was routine: She would glance up at him and he would peck her on the lips. She would spend a brief moment reveling in the fact that she was being kissed by the handsome, popular Head boy. Maeve would reflect upon how flawless this looked to the rest of the world and realize that just because a quick kiss looked sincere, didn't mean that it felt that way. _What did you expect, stupid? A profession of undying devotion?_ Maeve shook her head and poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Rafe watched the customary exchange, as he'd been watching it for two weeks; feeling disheartened. Tom went back to emotionlessly picking at his food, Maeve stared tiredly into her golden goblet in a way that most sad drunks looked at the bottom of their empty tankard. Frustration and confusion emanated off the pair in waves. He knew it was stupid, but Rafe desperately wanted Tom to be happy. Maybe if Riddle was happier, it might leak out into other things. Like it might rub off on…Rafe glanced over at Grendel and Kayne where they were busy burning a tiny Dippet effigy in one of the golden fruit bowls. It writhed around realistically trying to put itself out before finally going still and burning to a cinder. Well, Riddle's happiness might not perform _miracles_, but maybe it would make everyone's lives a little easier.

"Are you going to eat that, mate?" Everett croaked and made him jump, gesturing to the remaining bacon on his plate. Rafe shook his head and his hand shot out to grab Yaxley's crutches as they slid towards the floor. Everett struggled to move the pieces of meat onto his plate with his heavily plastered right hand, wincing.

"When does Madam Yarrow say you can be off the crutches, Everett?" Maeve asked in a small voice, taking a sip from her goblet. Yaxley dragged his gaze up to look at her with what was almost a glare.

"Another week." He grunted, shoveling bacon into his mouth so he wouldn't be available for conversation.

"Oh." Maeve looked guiltily at the surface of the table and Rafe felt almost sorry for her. Sitting next to Tom as he tried for indifference with not a single female friend to speak to, she looked incredibly lonely. All of the Slytherin girls were down at the other end of the table, chattering like a coop full of chickens. None of them spared the little Ravenclaw usurper a second glance as they planned get-togethers in Hogsmeade and 'study' sessions and obsessively discussed their love lives.

They were the girls who had learned long ago not to make friends with any of Tom's prey because the relationship never lasted long enough for them to form a bond with the girl in question. They all referred to her as 'Sinclaire' or 'The Ravenclaw' and scarcely spoke of her in Caoinin's fragile presence, let along their own insular social circles. Yet none of them dared show outward aggression, their self-preservation instinct was too strong. But there they sat, just as indifferent as Tom.

"I'm…er…going to talk to Hattie, if you don't mind." Maeve mumbled, looking blatantly miserable. Rafe sat up in alarm as Tom's expression went from mild to ugly in a split second and his lip curled. His eyes flashed dangerously as he glared at his breakfast, the vicious look hidden from Maeve as she twitched uncomfortably beside him. To Rafe's utter relief, the look passed and Tom's features reassembled themselves into something like tolerance.

"Very well." He said stiffly, nodding. "I will see you in Herbology."

Maeve stood up and attempted to walk away, only to have Tom capture her wrist and pull her back. For a moment, she looked confused but sat back down beside him. He gave her a kiss that was much more then a goodbye peck and Lupus made a snorkeling sound into his cereal and looked away in embarrassment. Rosier watched with a fascinated look, cocking his head to the side so he could see from a better angle and only coming to his senses when Malcolm smacked him in the chest in disgust. Maeve's hands fluttered half-heartedly to Riddle's shoulders, obviously fearful that she might fall off the bench. With a wet suctioning sound, Tom released her and she stared at him in a kind of shocked horror.

"Herbology?" She muttered breathlessly, straightening her tie.

"Herbology." He answered, raising an eyebrow with blasé expression and returning to his scrambled eggs. Maeve nodded and staggered off towards Ravenclaw table, tottering drunkenly. Tom set down his fork sharply and pushed his plate to the middle of the table, folding his hands and glaring mutely at nothing.

"Abraxas?"

"Yes?" Malfoy perked up, jerking his blonde head off the table and snapping to attention.

"Does Sinclaire look happy to you?" Tom asked carefully, spinning the butter knife in a menacing circle with his forefinger. Abraxas gulped and ignored Rafe's elbow to the ribs, wetting his lips and speaking hurriedly:

"She seems very happy to me, Tom. She's obviously overjoyed to be-"

"Don't lie and simper, Malfoy. You know that I find it vile." Tom spat venomously, knocking aside his goblet in disgust.

"I'm sure its not you, my lord." Malcolm interjected quietly, righting the goblet and mopping at the spilled liquid like a doting parent. Riddle cast him a withering look that could have rivaled the killing gaze of a basilisk and he hurried to continue. "Of course it isn't! She may even just be playing hard to-"

"Be silent, Nott. Has it not occurred to you that I have already analyzed every possible reason for Sinclaire's indifference and found each one lacking?" Rafe shifted uncomfortably, he'd never seen Tom this troubled by anything(or anyone) before. It would be better for both of them if Maeve could just pretend that she thought Tom cared. _Ugh, it's all too complicated. Who am I to be pointing the finger at them when I'm nearly as dysfunctional as Tom…I like O'Brien, for Merlin's sake. _Rafe winced and shook his head, despairing.

"Tom, she's indifferent because you are." He blurted into his pancakes, terrified by the abrupt silence that followed his words, interrupted only by the sound of Kayne choking and Everett's hissing intake of breath.

"Explain, Lestrange." Tom stared emotionlessly at the table, his wand swinging like a pendulum from his clasped hands, trailing orange sparks.

"Sinclaire's not like…the rest of them. As she's already proven, she's much smarter-"

"Smarter than Yax, at least." Vance chuckled blackly, nudging Grendel and jerking back when Everett made a growling sound under his breath.

"-And so she cant just be fooled by snogging and longing looks. She needs something deeper-" Rafe tried doggedly to continue over the rude comments but Tom held up a hand, shaking his head.

"Physical intimacy is the quickest way to ruin a relationship, Rafe. I refuse to believe that you are ignorant enough to suggest-"

"I'm not talking about sex! I'm talking about affection! Failing that, the convincing illusion that it exists. She needs to trust you completely."

There's was a strangely shocked silence following his words in which his fellow Deatheaters shifted uncomfortably. Tom blinked in surprise, but nonetheless considered this option. The relationship did not lack on his end, he certainly showed her affection. But for some reason, she simply did not return it…

"I'll speak to her."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **_So, at this point, I'm thoroughly disgusted with my poor writing and profoundly fed up with this part of the story. You'll have to forgive the quality, my horse died a few days ago(She was very young, died of a horrible infection. :'( ) and the holidays were simply too hectic. In any case, I'm very depressed and didn't particularly notice it was manifesting itself creatively until I'd branched out into the realm of 'Maeve imperio's the nosy librarian'. Evidently, I was forced to do a massive backtrack and burst into tears even after multiple edits. The end result: bollocks. The only good news I can give you is that I will be changing chapter nine to a Sinclaire-ian chapter instead of a 'too much coffee and Marilyn Manson' chapter. *rummages around in desk drawer for a gun with which to shoot herself in the foot* See what you think, in any case…_

"_Even innocence itself has many a wile,_

_and will not dare to trust itself with truth,_

_And love is taught hypocrisy from youth."__**~ Lord Byron**_

Rafe Lestrange dropped his wand for the third time in a row, wincing in pain. Abraxas made a barely intelligible grumbling sound and shot him a warning look. Rafe scrambled to grab it from the floor straightening quickly as Professor Merrythought reached him, a disapproving expression on her normally kind, plump face.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Lestrange?"

"No." The two boys chorused in unison, shooting each other nervous glances as she turned away and continued down the aisle between desks. Lupus looked away guiltily and scratched his wrist only to receive a powerful wallop to the side of his head.

"Would you _quit it_, for the love of Salazar!?" Malfoy's normally sumptuous lips were pulled into a thin line and his retort held the barest amount of force necessary to discipline Lupus. The outward signs of stress on the newly christened Deatheaters were not confined to the realms of phantom pains, however. Each boy sported a bone-weary look, purple circles under the eyes and a general continence of outright strain.

"But it _hurts_." Lupus pulled his sleeve down further and shrugged his shoulders, sighing.

"Suffer in silence for a few more minutes, wont you? For the rest of our sakes? The Hufflesnuffs are giving us funny looks…" Yaxley snapped, his almost healed face covered in yellowing bruises. Rafe watched as Yaxley nodded and winked suggestively at a girl called Deirdre Diggory; who abruptly returned to her work, looking appropriately chastised.

A bell rang loudly for end of period and the boys got up, dragging themselves out of their seats and staggering out into the throng of milling Hogwart's students. Rafe gave the vaulted ceiling an imploring look, feeling as though his school bag were twice as heavy as it should have been.

A tremendous burden had been placed on the his shoulders, it seemed. It was much more difficult than it appeared, this cult business. It made him feel dirty. The Fortunate, that had been…well, not harmless, but not like being a Deatheater. _Stop whingeing to yourself_, _Tom knows what he's doing! _For Riddle trusted Rafe much more than he trusted any of the rest or he never would have taken his comment this morning as sincerely as he had seemed to. Rafe Lestrange was proud of the wolf mark on his wrist, it distinguished him as a member. The most loyal of all the marks, Tom had said himself…

Malfoy and Lupus took the first staircase, Abraxas dragging the latter by his freshly marked wrist and ignoring his squeals. Yaxley departed soon afterwards, limping off to advanced potions. Rafe waved to him half-heartedly as he turned the corner and strode down the marble steps that lead out onto the grounds, sighing as he hurried towards Professor Kettleburn's final period Care of Magical Creatures.

The bite of winter was definitely still present in the air but it was refreshing to breathe nonetheless. Rafe inhaled deeply, fighting his way past the chill and glancing out over the snow-frosted hills and mountains surrounding Hogwarts. It was doubtless the most beautiful, muggle-less view he'd ever seen in his entire life and he cherished it. Rafe could see why Tom never wanted to leave Hogwarts during the holidays. _Hell_, _even _I _don't want to leave!_ He thought as he rounded a decrepit pillar and Kettleburn's cottage came into view. Even the crumbly little shack had its own unique charm, had a place amid the hillocks and sparse looking woods behind it. Rafe descended the rocky path and saw the rangy professor glaring at him steadily, standing on the stone steps in front of his hut so he could preside over his shivering class.

"Where've you been, boy?" Kettleburn shouted gruffly, holding something fuzzy and catlike in his arms.

"Taking in the sights, Professor." He shot back unenthusiastically, listening to the snickers that followed his comeback without much relish. _I was better behaved when I was a first year…wonder when I changed?_

Rafe was surprised and delighted to see something that wasn't bristling with venom sacs and spikes before reflecting dully that the creature Kettleburn was holding was probably bait for the real subject of the lesson. He relegated himself to the back of the crowd, accidentally bumping into Caoinin and Orpheus.

"Watch it!" The former hissed, shoving him and tossing her gorgeous head so that her midnight curls trickled down her back. Orpheus glared mutely in Rafe's direction but didn't speak, tightening his grip on Caoinin's curvaceous waist.

Rafe felt a strange mixture of pity and longing well in him at the sight of her. She was doubtless the most beautiful girl the way he saw it, she'd just been…broken by ill treatment. He wanted to heal her, he wanted to be given a chance to get close enough to just ease some of her pain. It was no use, though. Because, when forced to pick between two friends, he'd chosen Tom to stick by. Just like the rest of them, he'd let her burn. Caoinin O'Brien would never forgive her child-hood friend for that betrayal.

"I…sorry." Rafe muttered, looking away guiltily. She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him as though he smelled bad, then jerked back with a cry as a Ravenclaw boy shoved past her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She snarled, tripping the boy and sending him sprawling. Out of reflex, Rafe reached out towards the him as the entire class turned in shock at the sound of the boy's dismayed cry. The unfortunate Ravenclaw landed face first on a stonewall surrounding the groundskeeper's hut with a loud crunching sound. Rafe stared in comical shock at the immobile body at his feet, speechless. Kettleburn's scream broke the spell:

"LESTRANGE! What kind of skullduggery are you up to back there!? Out of my way, let me see…Good god, boy! What did poor Davies ever do to you?!" Kettleburn demanded, clutching the cat-thing tighter as it hissed and spat at something just over his shoulder. The Ravenclaw, Davies, was struggling to his feet and clutching his bloodied face.

"I didn't do-" Rafe snatched his hands back from their incriminating position, backpedaling wildly as Kettleburn advanced, forgetting the cat on his shoulder in his eagerness to chastise the Slytherin. This close up, Rafe was able to definitively identify the creature even as it sailed through the air towards Orpheus's face, claws outstretched. The kneazle landed on its intended target and screams rent the air, distracting Kettleburn and those not under attack so that their attention was completely diverted.

"Etrang? I 'eed o' alk o' oo." Rafe felt a hand sticky with blood grip his wrist and turned, astonished by the sight of Davies's red-streaked face.

"What?" Rafe, feeling confused and annoyed nonetheless allowed Davies to drag him back behind Kettleburn's cabin. The boy poked a blood marbled hand into his pocket and yanked out his wand, aimed it at his face and winced.

"Epithkey." There was a sickening crunch and the nose snapped back into place.

"Look, you have to listen to me. We don't have much time before Orpheus realizes what I'm doing…" Davies grabbed the front of Rafe's robes urgently, looking nervous.

"What the hell are you on about, Ravenclaw? Get your mud blood paws off me-" Rafe, feeling considerably less charitable now that his quarry was touching him.

"I need you to pass a message along to Riddle-" Davies chose to ignore the mud blood jibe.

"If you're threatening-" Rafe didn't let him finish, frustrated.

"Shut _up_, Lestrange, and pay attention! Maeve didn't lose her wand, Grisham stole it from her the day she got lost. He knew where she was going and he followed her!" He blurted in a rush, panting. Rafe stared at him blankly and he continued despite Lestrange's utterly nonplussed expression. "I never thought I'd say this about Slytherin's because I hate you-"

"Thanks." Rafe recovered himself enough to be snide, almost proud of the twisted grimace on Davies' bloodied face.

"-if your lot, if _Riddle _hadn't saved her she could have been…I don't know. Orpheus doesn't take no for an answer, if you catch my drift. He's planning to give it back to her-"

"The wand?" Rafe scowled at his feet, sighing. Things were hard enough without that hulking behemoth throwing a potions ladle into the works.

"I don't know. He wants her alone in the common room tonight. He's determined to punish her for the fiasco with Dippet. None of us can believe she lied for Tom, you know. I mean, we all thought she was harmless-" Davies looked uneasy, ducking around the cabin. The roar of commotion seemed to have died down slightly and Grisham was surrounded by friends, the kneazle being forced into a crate by a furious Kettleburn.

"Well, you were wrong, weren't you?" Rafe laughed bitterly, glaring into the misty trunks of the not so distant Forbidden Forest.

"You will tell Tom, wont you? And he'll…protect her?" Davies looked anxious but fierce, his brows furrowed.

"Don't worry, Mudblood. I'll tell Tom." _About your wildly unlikely conspiracy theory…then again, better to be safe then sorry._

"Well…good." Davies turned his back on him, looking haunted.

"Hang on. Why do you care? About Maeve, I mean? And why tell me?" Triton turned and gave Rafe an appraising glance, the ghost of a sad smile appearing on lips.

"I see the way you look at O'Brien, Pureblood. That's how I used to look at Maeve." Triton hurried to explain before Rafe could interject with a warning. "But not anymore, of course. I always knew that she was destined for…better things. I don't want her for myself, I just want her safe."

Feeling bemused, Rafe watched Triton rejoin the class. He followed behind numbly paying the minimum amount of attention necessary to absorb anything about the kneazle lecture that he could. Is it possible that the little mud blood was suffering the same way he was? He went to glance at the Ravenclaw out of the corner of his eye and nearly leapt back in surprise when he realized who was standing not but a foot from him. Mad Hattie was a head shorter than he was, with soft doll-like features and a slightly upturned nose. The pale blue and yellow striped tweed hat she wore over her shoulder-length, burgundy curls simply added to the impression of youth. Their was a dusting of freckles across her translucent pale skin and as she flicked her distant gaze up to meet his own, he noticed the little flecks of jade in her otherwise hazel eyes.

"Hello, Rafe." She murmured in her whimsical soprano, dipping her head a little in acknowledgment.

"Hat-Lovegood." He muttered in response, suddenly extremely interested in whatever Kettleburn was saying.

"Does your arm feel better?"

"I don't know what your on about, Hattie. Do shut up." Rafe glanced around nervously for some way to escape. Even Maeve was sometimes a little too perceptive for him, but dealing with Mad Hattie was like trying to feel comfortable around an existential clairvoyant. No one knew about the mark, he was just paranoid.

"I suppose it looks fine now, but it was bothering you this morning." She seemed genuinely concerned, her small, seashell pink lips quirked in a mildly troubled pout. Rafe said nothing and resisted the almost unbearable urge to rub his burning wrist. Hattie looked up at him once more with her doe-eyed gaze and continued softly: "You don't have to tell me what's wrong, you know. I was only trying to cheer you up."

"Cheer…cheer _me _up? _Why_? Do I look like an unhappy person to you, Lovegood?" Rafe stared at her aghast, nonetheless relieved that she hadn't pressed him about the mark. Hattie shrugged her narrow little shoulders, a red curl falling across her face.

"Yes."

"Wha-? Your ridiculous!" Rafe snorted, abruptly fed up with their conversation.

"He doesn't like her, not really." Hattie glanced over at where Orpheus and Caoinin were sneaking off into the woods.

"That's just brilliant! Makes me feel so much better. Thanks. I'm not that stupid, Hathor. Now would you please just shut it and go bother someone else for a change?" Rafe muttered furiously, jamming his fists in his pockets and glaring at his feet. Something soft brushed along the inside of his wrist and his head snapped up in surprise. Hattie's cool fingers gently squeezed his forearm and she smiled up at him guilelessly.

"I hope you feel better, Rafe."

"I…" _That's sort of kind of her, really. What?! Have you lost your bloody mind, this is the Mad Hatter your talking about! Don't lose your edge now, mate!_ Rafe rearranged his rakish features into a reluctant frown.

"Yeah, whatever." He grumbled as she flitted away to join Triton on the other side of the class. He greeted her with a nod and they stood together in silence, listening attentively to Kettleburn's speech. _There's no denying it_, Rafe thought as he trudged back up the hill after class for dinner, _Ravenclaw's are just plain weird._

_~*~_

"_Argumenti_." Water dribbled from the tip of her wand and sloshed into the glass goblet, filling it a quarter of the way before petering out. Maeve shook her head and gave a frustrated sigh, slapping down the cherry wood wand and glaring at it. The borrowed wand just wasn't performing as it should!

She snatched a weathered copy of _The Wand & Its Wielder _from her teetering stack of reference volumes, profoundly irritated. There was nothing that could make this wand function like Cassandra's had. That wand was a treasure, an heirloom! It had been nothing short of a pure miracle that neither Tarquin nor Megaera had noticed the difference when she cast over the Yule holiday. And she'd rather _die _than suffer the extreme embarassment of having to admit to anyone she couldn't fix the problem herself. Bad enough that she'd clumsily lost the wand…

It had been a tremendous boon that she only had to suffer through one period with Tom and that it had been Herbology, a class that required minimum wand work and very little grey matter. They'd spoken very little and even then, only when it applied to the lesson at hand._ Merciful Merlin, I'm glad I don't have to see him again until tomorrow-_

"I want to know why you're different." Maeve gasped and dropped _The Wand & Its Wielder _. The book stopped an inch from the floor, floating back onto the table beside her. Tom crossed his arms and leaned lazily back against the bookshelf, peering at the title before she could snatched it off the desk_._

"Tom…you startled me." She panted, looking nervously over her shoulder.

"Doing a little light reading? Why are you interested in wand lore?" Two questions in such quick succession from the omniscient head boy boded ill, Maeve was sure of it.

"I'm not, I just find it a fascinating, that's all." She stuffed the books into her bag and stood up, ready to leave. Maeve looked slightly breathless and frightened, obviously seeing through his overture of friendliness. _And yet, she is still lying to me. _

"You, Maeve, are different than all those other girls. Why do you think that is? Because it's giving me an alarming amount of trouble trying to figure it out." Riddle murmured, pushing off the shelf and slinking towards her with a purposeful stride. Maeve ducked her head and stared at her feet.

"I don't know-"

"Don't hide from me, Sinclaire. Feigned cowardice does not suit you." Tom snapped, his expression abruptly severe. Maeve took a deep breath and looked up at him with a wary expression.

"Have I done something wrong?" She asked carefully, leaning back as he loomed over her.

"No," Tom placed an arm on either side of her, so she was pinned against the bookshelf with no means of escape. Her little chest puffed out with nervous breaths as he invaded her space, so close he could have kissed her if he wanted to. Yes, she would have let him: her pretty little lips so temptingly parted, luminous green eyes focused on his. But she wasn't giving him _the _look, that besotted expression they all wore after about two days. How endlessly frustrating that was! He stepped back and shook his head in annoyance. "-and yes."

"I don't see how." Maeve's voice took on a touch of steel. Tom glowered at her from the corner of his eye, his mouth twisted downwards in a disgusted grimace.

"You are not-" Tom hesitated for a moment and then glared at her in earnest. "You're making my life frightfully grueling by not immediately being transfixed by my presence."

"I _am _transfixed by your presence, Tom." Maeve insisted, irritation leaking through her carefully neutral expression.

"I'll appreciate the honesty, little viper, when its not just a half-truth. 'Transfixed' is not the right word for what you are not, perhaps a better phrase would be 'smitten'? I must say, it makes you rather infuriating to be around." He snapped, trying in vain to achieve the neutrality that was now eluding both of them.

"Will you give me a moment to work up to full swoon or should I be able to perform one on command?" She said bitingly, turning back to the bookshelf. Tom's hand shot out and twitched over her shoulder before dropping back to his side, clenched in a fist.

"Don't be sarcastic, Sinclaire. It's an insult to your intelligence and you know that it irks me when you're so appallingly puerile." Tom blocked her escape as she tried to slip past him, She glared at him and stepped back.

" Childish? Forgive me, Riddle, but I was not the one to march into the library and passive-aggressively declare that 'I want to know why your different'." What on earth was wrong with this female? She looked positively deranged…it had clearly been an err in judgment to come into the conversation with all wands blazing. Already irritated by something, he'd simply poured salt into her open wounds. _Good, maybe I'll finally get a genuine reaction._

"I do not sound like that, Sinclaire-" He sputtered, now appropriately furious. Diplomacy was not an option.

"Besides, I don't think I've been around you long enough to irk you in anyway." She shot back, her arms folded over her chest.

"You are sadly mistaken." He shot back blackly, searching for a way to salvage the conversation. In the mean time, he needed to keep her in this secluded corner of the library; a task that was proving far more difficult then he'd ever imagined. Maeve tried to slip by him and he blocked her, unleashing the full force of an evil glare on her.

"What, Tom!? I'm sick of trying to figure out what you want from me, what will get you to call me by my first name-" She threw up her hands in exasperation, looking tired and drawn. Tom, too furious to read the signs, tossed caution to the winds:

"You simply wont love me, will you?" Maeve stared at him in amazement, her mouth working furiously as she tried to think of an excuse.

"Oh, don't look so offended." Tom hissed, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow at her hurt expression. " I know your not actually as injured by that as you pretend to be. I want to know why you insist upon being so…ungrateful."

"I wont…_love _you? YOU HYPOCRITICAL ASS!" The acid in her tone shocked him into temporary silence and she continued, her voice building in volume and ferocity: "By all means, fault me for lack of an emotion I know you disdain! That is the height of hypocrisy! You _bastard_…" She glared into Riddle's astonished expression for the bare breadth of a second, shocked and angry that Tom Marvolo Riddle had the nerve to lecture her about love. The fury rose in her chest, paired with hopeless desperation. How dare he demand from her that which she could not give! Torture her with empty promises and flawless pretense…it wasn't fair! She rushed on before he could speak, the tears barely held at bay.

"Who do you think you are!? You don't love me, why should I love you?!" She choked out, shaking her head as the tears poured down her cheeks. Tom fixed his sneer in place and stood tall, cool and remote. How dare she question _him_, it wasn't his job to love anyone back.

"And how do you, a girl of sixteen, know that I don't love you? Would it hurt for you to try and express some sort of _real _emotion, Sinclaire? You certainly did not find me distasteful when I-" With the speed of a striking snake and surprising strength for a girl so slender, she threw herself into his arms like a wave breaking upon rock. She wrapped her lithe arms around his neck, her lush golden hair soft as the brush of a feather against his skin. Her lips were so gentle, so soft on his own it overwhelmed any sort of stoic defense he might have presented. Slow, tender kisses as though she'd been giving them all her life, kisses that were like a savored taste.

Things seemed startlingly clear and calm to Tom in those moments of blissful, easy kissing. Maeve's lips did not demand anything of him, they simply asked in a strangely bewitching way. _Please_. Like the cool, gentle hush of rain against the window panes behind him, her fingertips whispered across his skin. Her supple, willowy body pressed against every hard, unyielding line of his own. The scent of her was thick in his nose, the smell of parchment and the soft scent of gardenia combined with the sweet freshness of a true spring rain.

Tom inhaled deeply, sinking back against the windowsill until cold glass touched his overheated neck. Her kiss was disarming and the fight, the anger at her perceived indifference went out of him._ How could I ever be angry with her? She couldn't harm me if she wanted to, she-what is she doing? _Tom registered the strangely pleasant sensation with a prick of alarm: Her fingers were twined in his hair, pulling back from the kiss to press her forehead to his own. She was _holding _him, Tom didn't feel like anyone had ever held him before like this. Just her embrace made him feel like melting, like yielding to her. Like ice melting in the sun-

"Stop it!" Abrupt and inexplicable panic flashed through his veins like fiend fire and he wrenched himself out of her grasp. Her grip was easy to break, laughably tenuous. She stumbled back from him, her deceptively innocent, dark green eyes full of hurt.

"Tom-"

"No." He snapped, shrinking back from her and struggling to fix his classic sneer in place. He had to think of something convincingly vicious to spit at her before she got close to him again. One step further and he'd tackle her, desperate for that sweet kiss and giving body with an almost depraved hunger.

"Don't play a game you cant win, Ravenclaw. Better-looking, wiser girls have tried…and failed." Maeve recoiled like he'd hit her, trusting face twisting into a snarl that was O'Brien worthy. _Well, good. At least that's taken care of until tomorrow morning when I have to implement damage control. _Tom made a mental note to throttle Rafe once he got his hands on him-

SMACK!

Tom's head was thrown to the side by the force of the blow, his right cheek flushing with blood. At first, the area where she'd slapped him was numb and he stared at her in amazement. Caoinin had never raised a hand to him, for all her threats. And Maeve…she'd just _slapped _him?!

"You are the world's worst _liar_." Her green eyes flashed from behind the filmy strands of translucent blonde hair, her mouth turned down in a disappointed grimace as she turned on her heel, leaving him slumped against a bookshelf. Tom clutched his stinging cheeck, panting breathlessly and barely able to focus on her retreating back as she vanished around a bookshelf, heading for the door to the library.

What on earth was that?! No female had ever taken advantage of _him _before, never in that way and never so strongly. He felt overheated, claustrophobic and confused by the sensory onslaught; he struggled to his feet, tripping and snatching a hold of a desk as he rose shakily. Rubbing his neck, he staggered quickly out of the library, oblivious to Madam Harker's sour expression.

As he recovered from his shock, his original feelings of frustration resurfaced. He wouldn't tolerate the mixed messages anymore. She'd give him answers or she'd suffer, he promised himself. His patience for silly little mind games was at an end, she'd just have to fall into line like the rest of them. Let it be known: Tom Marvolo Riddle was done playing role-reversal. Whatever button he'd pushed, she would explain herself to him in a way that could be coherently understood or so help him he'd imperio her!

But not tonight. He was too tired, too drained by one encounter to deal with another outpouring of emotion, especially anywhere close to a bed or couch or even an empty classroom. His self-control was far from endless when he was in this kind of state of confusion and he'd just, he wanted to-! _To hit something, or grab something…or kiss her until she cant breathe, drag her to the passionate edge and leave her there._ He thought venomously, casting the empty corridor a wasted glare that was impressive even though it had no victim. His sigh came out a hiss as he stormed off towards Slytherin common room.

"TOM!! TOOOOOOOMMM!" His palm a hairs-breadth from the slimy, dungeon wall that concealed the entrance to the Slytherin grotto, Tom turned towards the voice. Rafe was dashing full pelt down the corridor, looking terrified.

"What is it, Lestrange?"

"I tried to find you earlier…talk to you at dinner-" Rafe gasped, coughing as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Excuses. Please, get to the point."

"Where's Maeve?!" Rafe panted, his chest heaving like a bellows.  
"Why should I know or care?" Tom flicked an invisible speck of dirt from the sleeve of his robes, affecting a disinterested air. Something unpleasant spiked just shy of the center of his chest and he winced.

"You spoke to her today, didn't you?" Tom glared stonily at Rafe, an eyebrow raised. He did not approve of an inferior taking that kind of tone with him.

"Yes, I did. It did not go at all well. I am going to bed, Rafe-"

"NO! Grisham is in the common room, waiting for her. We have to stop her before she gets there-"

"I do not believe we have any sort of obligation to do anything. Goodnight." With that, Riddle swept inside the common room, leaving Rafe gaping helplessly at the empty corridor where he had just been standing.

_No, oh please no. Not again, Tom, don't make me choose again. _The memories, as vivid as though they were yesterday: Caoinin, clutching her belly like she'd been dealt a mortal wound and not the final rejection, staring up at him with baleful eyes and pleading lips. _Rafe, please don't leave me. Please, Rafe, I need you! Don't go…_ Begging with the tears streaming down her cheeks as the rest stood in the doorway looking back at where he'd hesitated in agonized indecision. _Are you coming, Rafe?_ Tom ducked his head back inside, an expression of distaste on his incomparably handsome features. Rafe could still hear her sobs grating on his ears, still feel the almost immediate regret as he chose to follow the rest…

_Not this time_. Rafe turned on his heel and flew back up the steps, racing for Ravenclaw common room. Tom may not care, but Rafe did. Tom may not have learned his lesson, but Rafe had. He would not leave her to the mercy of the wolves, not this time. It hurt that he'd been wrong about Tom's feelings for Maeve, but maybe there was still time for redemption-

"Are you going to take the long way, Lestrange?" Rafe stopped so quickly he nearly fell on his face. _It cant be…_

"Tom, what are you doing? I thought you said-" The other boy gaped shamelessly at Riddle, utterly stunned by his unexpected appearance.

"I'm protecting my investment. Now, _this _is the quickest way to Ravenclaw tower if you'd care to join me." With that, Tom darted down a dark passageway to the left, as sleek and silent as a serpent.

"Coming!" Rafe squeaked, following Riddle into the gloom.

_**End Note: **__So, I trust you to hunt me down and kill me for this entire ruin of a chapter. But before you avada kedavra me to an early grave, I realized that I've never really described fully what Rafe actually looks like to you(or at least I don't recall describing him). I'm curious as to what you all think he looks like, since everyone loves him so?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **_Alright, so I had a sudden burst of brilliant inspiration and went back to edit this into something decent. It's still my crappy, agonizing style __L__; but maybe its bearable. Since we FINALLY figure out why the whole damned wand thing is so important(If I could have my way without ruining the integrity of the last five chapters, I'd do-away with the whole wand losing rubbish, it was a wild tangent gone out of control.). Reviews(especially constructive ones!)are always welcome! I wish I could somehow have fit this first, Hogwarts Section into thirteen chapters(That was my grand plan, but right now it looks impossible.). Oh well, I'll stop boring you…hopefully._

_And, to give the credit where it is due, the riddles are not of my own invention. I did, however, comb the college's library looking for the second one, which I'm very proud of! XD Enjoy!_

"_She made a little shadow-hidden grave,  
The day Faith died;  
Therein she laid it, heard the clod's sick fall,  
and smiled aside-  
"If less I ask," tear-blind, she mocked, "I may  
Be less denied."_

_She set a rose to blossom in her hair,  
The day Faith died-  
"Now glad," she said, "and free at last, I go,  
And life is wide."  
But through long nights she stared into the dark,  
And knew she lied"._

**~ Fannie Heaslip Lea**

Maeve flung herself up the spiral staircase in such a fury that she was too dizzy to stand when she reached the top. She collapsed three steps from the door, throwing herself down on the cold stone and sobbing inconsolably. Her head spun, physically and emotionally as she pressed her face to cool masonry. Painful memories rushed at her in a violent torrent as she struggled to her feet. Every denied embrace, every cheerful greeting that fell flat, each cloud with a lining of bitter iron instead of silver. She just had to make it a few more yards, just had to make it to the dormitory and she'd be fine. She wouldn't think about the disappointment, she wouldn't let that crush her, not so close to sanctuary.

Maeve stood up and leaned her weight against the knocker, banging it once so the sound reverberated down the staircase. The eagle's beak opened and it spoke:

"The more there is,

The less you see,

Squint all you wish,

When surrounded by me."

"I am confusion." The door remained shut and Maeve swore angrily and kicked it, her depression manifesting itself as ugly irritation. She didn't have the patience for riddles tonight, period. Besides, part of her felt a nagging fear that she would turn around and he would be there, with his dark looks and sleek, purposeful expression. If she saw him again tonight, she wouldn't be able to resist the urge, the _compulsion _to cling to him and never let him go. To surrender completely to the hypnotic power that made her heart jump angrily in her chest. And it was anger that fueled it, frustration and a desire to-to what, to throttle him? Or to kiss him? _Oh, I hate him! I hate him for making me love him_…If that's what these strange feelings were, of course. With a sigh, she pressed her back against the oaken door and curled her legs up underneath her, perched on the top step of the stair. She stared blankly at the vaulted ceiling above and tried to think.

Maeve had always construed love as something that, if it existed at all, was marked by a persons willingness to make sacrifice's for their partner, to be able to give without expecting anything in return. To take pleasure from their partners happiness, even if they themselves were miserable. The entire arrangement was a condition of martydom that to her, seemed at the very least unhealthy. But principally, love needed trust to function.

For just a few seconds, she had trusted him. And he'd thrown it back in her face like it was garbage. Maybe it was, and she was just losing her mental faculties over an idiot boy who didn't care. _It wouldn't be the first time entrusting my worthless heart to someone has been more trouble than it was worth_. Hot pain flashed up her throat and she winced and waited for it to pass, eyelids scrunched shut against the tears that threatened to spill forth onto her cheeks. _No, that was different: Tom doesn't see visions of the future in which you do horrible things, he wont go mad and try to kill you because of crimes you haven't even committed yet. He just _doesn't _love you, get on with your life._ Maeve pressed her forehead to the wooden door until the wood was etched into her brow, sucking in a few deep breaths and gradually, agonizingly dragging herself out of the vicious memory's.

Maeve shook her head and sighed, what she 'needed' now was sleep. As refreshing as the spat had been, the emotional overload had been physically and mentally taxing. She pushed herself to her feet wearily and brushed aside a few stray tears with the heel of her hand, turning to face her nemesis. She glared resentfully at the door and replayed the riddle in her head: _The more there is, the less you see. Squint all you wish when surrounded by me. _Oh! The answer was obvious, and strangely, appropriate.

" I am darkness." She responded, her voice rough with exhaustion. The phrase seemed to have a fateful ring to it and a shudder traveled down her spine at the eerie premonition. _Oh, stop! Your going mad from all the stress, a riddle cant hurt you!_

"Well done." The door swung open easily and she stepped through into the dark common room, her eyes adjusting slowly to the unlit interior. It was a new moon tonight and inky darkness permeated the tower like a sickness.

The familiarity of the room even at night should have given her a sense of security and safety. It did not. The fire had gone out in the grate and cold air bit into her skin, hovering at a temperature just low enough to make her feel exquisitely uncomfortable. _Lazy house elves. _Maeve strode to the center of the circular room and pointed her wand at the fireplace, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. Sapphire blue flames sprang up in the grate and she turned with a relieved sigh towards the stairs to the dormitory.

There was a movement to Maeve's left, someone rising from the couch. Surprised, she turned with the cherry wand out, glaring as a shape emerged from the darkness. Diffuse blue light lent Orpheus's skin a deathly pallor and there was something dangerous in the way he moved. Normally, he galumphed about like a domestic dog, clumsy and careless with his movements. Tonight, he slunk between her and the dormitories like a starving jackal. The wand followed him and her gaze flicked around the common room, searching the patches of darkness for further threat. She half-expected Caoinin to be lurking out of sight, maybe just behind her…

"Don't worry, it's just you and me." Maeve's head snapped back around and she backed to the edge of the circle of light, the cherry wand still trained on him. He fingered his own thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming like polished stones in the eerie firelight. Maeve felt a rush of inexplicable terror and something in her mind cried out. _Tom! _Abruptly, she mentally chided herself for such ridiculousness. As if he could hear her, as if he would care!

"I compare you to her all the time, you know." Orpheus nodded to something behind her, still doing his best to appear innocently thoughtful. Maeve whirled in fear, expecting O'Brien. But instead, her terrified gaze came to rest on the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw.

White marble that was as pure as a freshly layed egg and as smooth and gleaming as porcelain. Ravenclaw's house founder had been called 'fair' and the statuette was clearly beautiful. There was a pearlescent sheen across the irises of Rowena's piercing, intent gaze as she stared out towards the window of the common room, presumably surveying the gorgeous view. She had a clean, delicate face with full, winsome lips set in a face that had been exquisitely wrought. High cheekbones with cheeks that were hollow and yet somehow, still perfect. On her head perched the legendary treasure every Ravenclaw coveted: The diadem. Said to bestow infinite knowledge on the wearer, it seemed an irrevocable part of Rowena. In one long-fingered hand she held a wand and around her waist was a sword belt, the elegant sword sheathed at her hip.

"Rowena was dark-haired and we look nothing alike." Maeve replied blackly, her knuckles going white where they gripped the wand. She glared at Orpheus with the kind of expression that normally stopped him cold. Tonight, he didn't seem to notice, only gazed at the statue with a sort of content expression on his face.

"Oh, I don't mean her looks, though, if you recall correctly; it's 'fair' Ravenclaw . She carries a wand, wears the diadem of wisdom and…she wields a sword. Nobody ever notices that when they first see her, I didn't when I was a first-year-"

"Will you get to the point and leave me alone!? I've had a tiring day Grisham, and I'm not in the mood for you existential flirtation." Rash, thoughtless exhaustion made her snap at him and he turned his head slowly, something about him seeming to tense with silent menace. Maeve took a sharp step backwards and he advanced, compensating for the distance.

"Don't rush me!" He growled, and then calmed slightly as he looked back at the statue. "The diadem for intelligence, the wand for magic and the sword for retribution and justice."

"Are you threatening me?" Maeve felt fright lance through her stomach, her heart in her throat.

Orpheus stepped closer to her, his smile taking effort to force into place. He did not exude the same kind of menace that the Deatheaters did, but the expression of malice on a face that did not lend itself to villainy made him somehow that much more terrifying. Orpheus was very big, broad shouldered and muscular; but he had a face that was deceptively sweet. An angel's face, framed by nut-brown curls and inset with dark eyes that bored into hers hungrily. It was starved hunger, ravenous and depraved. Not eager hunger, not something that could be satiated with just one bite…Maeve's heart thumped in terror, clutching at the marble sword behind her as though it might somehow miraculously become the elegant weapon it portrayed.

"I'm promising you, Maeve. You're alone, there's a silencing charm on the dormitory and that wand doesn't work for you-" He was close now, just out of reach of her wand tip. But the spell was frozen in her throat, the darkness of the common room menaced her from all sides, Orpheus's hulking form backlit by the cerulean light of the fire.

"How do you know that it doesn't, Grisham?" Her voice betrayed her, quavering in a high and nervous note of panic.

"Your clever and quick, but your tired. You had a fight with Riddle, I can tell. What would it be like to be with someone who you know wouldn't hurt you? I don't want to bully you, Maeve, I want you to just except this. To surrender with grace." He had her truly frightened now, her wand hand trembling. Without Riddle, the fight seemed to just leave her. Just go out, like a little meek candle flame.

"I deserve justice, Mae. You lied to them about me, you lied to everyone. They think I'm a creep now, they watch me like they should watch Riddle-"

"Leave him out of this!" Her voice lashed like a whip crack and her head snapped up, the cowering form cast in shadow straightened. In that moment, Orpheus understood: Tom made her feel worthy. Orpheus's fingers skimmed across her cheek and she flinched back from him.

"Fine. But I want you to co-operate with me, because deep down, you know you deserve a punishment. For betraying you house and your friends…for being silly enough to lose this." Orpheus held up Cassandra Sinclaire's willow wand so that it caught the light. It was a stupid thing to do, of course, but he just couldn't resist gloating.

The wand was a pretty thing, delicate compared to his own. A flexible 7'¾ of an inch, the creamy colored wood shimmered silver in the light, the tiny, vine-like carvings gracefully wrought under his fingertips. He'd shown it to Ollivander , a family friend, who'd deduced that the core consisted of an Irish Phoenix feather and that it was old…probably an heirloom. Very, very valuable and definitely a woman's wand. Foolish, do-gooder had never suspected that he procured it illegally; with a cleverness and cunning that deserved praise.

"You…You've had it this entire time?!" Something about her voice made Orpheus's blood run cool. He flicked his wand and the cherry wood sailed out of her grip and clattered to the floor, rolling away beyond her reach. He pressed his wand tip to her throat and tried to recover his wits.

"Don't try anything, Sinclaire, or I'll snap it in two! I'm doing this for your own good-" Those last words were the ones that damned him, that last sentence. Her dark green eyes were full of a vicious, terrifying loathing that made the words stick in his throat.

"How dare you. For my own good? How dare you try that on with me! How dare you threaten me with a wand that's been in my family for centuries…that's performed magic you couldn't even attempt in your wildest dreams. _Give it back!_" Her voice rang with eerie resonance, like she was speaking inside his skull and not just the cavernous common room.

Grisham felt blackness, a sort of blackness that writhed with anger and hatred and roiled with biting, clawing creatures intent on tearing and rending him in half. His mind seemed to be unhinging, the sight of Maeve fuming with anger was beginning to melt into a memory of yesterday: He was kissing Caoinin, and her hair suddenly became a writhing nest of adders. He screamed and they were hissing, striking at his face. Out of each fanged, pink and fork-tongued mouth the snakes screamed with Maeve's voice _Give me the wand_! He was on the Quidditch pitch and there was a bird, a giant falcon, ripping at his insides and he was powerless to stop it. _I must be dieing, she's killing me and I'm dieing!_ He could feel the agony, even feel the sensation of blood gurgling through the mincemeat of his lungs. Very distantly, he felt himself fall to his knees in a common room present in a reality beyond his reach, felt the fingers on his corporeal hand release their grip on the thin stick of woodthey had been clutching for dear life up until this point. Then, any feelings of actuality left him for good. He was being clenched in the falcon's talons and it was ripping at him like he was a helpless mouse. It's golden raptor beak was red with blood and it's eyes were a brilliant, emerald green…

_~*~_

Tom felt as though someone were striving to cleave his skull in two with a rusty saw. It wasn't customary for him to suffer headaches, and never ones of such magnitude. A strange weight seemed to press on him from all sides, more of a mental trepidation than a physical one. Was this what guilt felt like? Or maybe he was simply anxious, he'd certainly never felt this ill before.

"Tom…we're here! Are you alright?" Rafe's voice seemed distant, foggy.

"Fine, Lestrange. Pull the knocker and let's just get on with it." He pressed his back against the sloping stone wall and tried to slow his breathing. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and glinted in the torch light as Rafe complied with his request, fiercely pounding on the bronze, eagle shaped knocker.

" 'My first is the centre of gravity;

my second the foundation of perplexity;

and the whole my utter aversion.

What am I?'"

"I DON'T KNOW, DAMN YOU!! OPEN!" Rafe flung himself at the door, smashing his shoulder into it and wincing. Tom noticed with the barest amount of effort that Rafe was unusually agitated, bouncing on the balls of his feet and stealing himself for another assault on Ravenclaw's door.

"Lestrange, move aside!" Rafe shuffled quickly out of the way as Tom batted him aside.

" Now, repeat the riddle." Tom turned towards the door, twitching anxiously and trying to focus as the door repeated itself. An expression of extreme concentration lit his features and then he glared shrewdly at the door. "Is this some sort of a joke?"

"TOM!" Rafe let out an agonized shout and fell to his knees. "Just blast the damn door open!"

"The histrionics are exceedingly childish-" The mental weight was less onerous when he concentrated on his own thoughts…if he let his mind wander, the unseen force poisoned his system.

"Do you know the answer?" Rafe felt as though his insides were being scrubbed across sandpaper.

"I am a viper." The door to Ravenclaw common room slammed open and Rafe lunged through first, only to stumble in shock at what he saw.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" Tom cast the spell over Rafe's shoulder and hit the standing figure in the chest. The agonizing weight and migraine vanished immediately and he let out a gasp of clear air. Rafe's hands flew to his temples and he winced and stumbled forward, not aware of the pressure until it had been relieved.

"What the bloody hell kind of a hex was that? Where is she?" He babbled senselessly, his legs trembling like jelly. "Tom?"

"Quiet, Rafe." Tom strode across the room, taking care to step on Grisham's wrist and cause him to scream with fresh, unconscious pain.

Maeve's body had smashed into the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw and she lay unconscious at its base. The power of her silencing spell broke and a piercing, keening whimper rent the air. Grisham was writhing on the floor, so soaked with sweat the thin white fabric of his collared shirt was translucent in places. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling and gasped like a fish, panting desperately like he'd just run a marathon. Rafe staggered across the blue carpet, his eyes flashing between Maeve and Orpheus in a way that was almost comic. Tom surveyed the scene clinically, stretching his neck and relieving the residual tension in his shoulders.

"Rafe, deal with that." He waved a white hand dismissively in Grisham's direction and strode across the blue carpet to where Maeve lay crumpled, her limbs sprawled out inelegantly. It had been an accident, hitting her with the jinx. But he couldn't help feeling mildly justified-Maeve stirred weakly, her eyelashes fluttering.

"What are you going to do with her?" Rafe had snuck up behind him soundlessly, his wand at his side.

"Grisham is taken care of?" He murmured emotionlessly, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed down at Maeve. Tom's face was twitching strangely, as though he was battling a war he could not win against facial expression.

"Yes, I stunned him. My obliviation skills aren't terrific so I didn't try to-"

"A memory charm will not be necessary. I believe Orpheus has learned a valuable lesson tonight, it would be cruel to rob him of the experience. I suggest you move him to the couch, leaving bodies sprawled across the dormitory stairs is not a practice that inspires trust." Tom shifted into a sinuous crouch and easily gathered Maeve's limp body into his arms.

Rafe deposited Grisham's body roughly on the sapphire blue couch, feeling utterly drained and yet triumphant. Tom _did _care about her, even though he would never admit to anything other than a physical attraction. _I knew it! I knew he had a soul…he just needed someone to show it to him!_ And if there was a female worthy of showing Riddle his soul, it was this little Ravenclaw. Whatever she had been doing to Grisham, it had been astonishingly powerful. She was duality, just enough softness and innocence to be alluring and then a sharp, bitter inside that rebuffed you for making assumptions based on looks alone. Sighing tiredly, Rafe turned back to Riddle.

"Are we going back down to the common room?" He murmured, rubbing his chin. A days worth of stubble and accumulated across his lightly bronzed complexion. Brushing a hand through his ink dark, longish hair, he breathed a sigh.

"You may, Lestrange, and be mindful that you don't get caught." Tom had a curious, mildly scheming expression on his face. Rafe raised an eyebrow and glanced at Maeve, who was still very much unconscious.

"Run along, Rafe. I'm just going to make one of my infrequent visits to the Head common room."

**End Note:** _Sorry I had to end on a dialogue-y bit(and without resolving the whole debacle!) I figured that it was just a bit too much to squidge into one chapter and not put you all to sleep! Hope you enjoyed it, don't forget to review!_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note:**_ First and foremost, I want to apologize for the ridiculously long wait. Secondly, for the inconsistent chapter quality throughout. I have to just bite the bullet and post my chapters when I'm finished with them, regardless of the fact that I'm scared to displease all of you. I think I was almost better when I didn't know what a bollocks writer I was. I shall do my best, but principally, I'm just going to WRITE. The good news? My dearest Jidgy is going to beta for me from now on! Next chapter should go back to the Deatheaters(whom, though I say so myself, I adore.). Hope you can glean some enjoyment (not to mention coherency) out of this… L

_"The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where the dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind." ~ Katharine Mansfield_

_"According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else." ~ J.K. Rowling, The Order of the Phoenix_

~*~

Minnie McGonagall looked up from her mother's tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice at the sound of the portrait hole swinging open. Oh no. There was only one person who that could possibly be. Sure enough, Riddle emerged from around the corner; carrying a limp body in his arms. A little thrill of surprised anger shot through her as she recognized the girl as his Ravenclaw, the cascade of blonde hair and the sapphire tie giving it away. He hadn't seen her yet, and was attempting to sneak up to the dormitory with semi-encumbered stealth. Minerva cleared throat and he whirled around so fast that he almost dropped the girl.

"Riddle, where do you think you're going with that Ravenclaw?"

" Minerva. What are you doing up so late?" Tom scowled at her, readjusted the body in his arms, with one eyebrow arched and a careful warning in his tone.

"Reading." She shook the book a little for emphasis and fixed him with her best imperious expression. "And you, what are you doing up so late? Gone on another fornicating escapade?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Head Mudblood. I don't suppose you've gotten any action since what, the last chapter? Speaking of which-" He looked around with a dashing smirk. "I don't suppose Elva is lurking around here somewhere?"

"We study together," Minnie's face paled and she swallowed, visibly unsettled. "Besides, that's neither here nor there. What are you doing with the Ravenclaw?"

Tom seemed to consider her for a moment, gauging whether she was worthy of the answer he would give her. He shrugged his shoulders and spoke quickly, the weight of her body obviously starting to bother him:

"Fine. She was jinxed and her own common room isn't…safe. I, however, have an empty room here, in the Head Dormitory that she is more than welcome to-" That was a pathetic excuse, even for the promiscuous Slytherin.

"Oh yes, I suppose your doing this out of the kindness of your heart? There's quite a distinction between being a foul philanderer and being a philanthropist, you villainous scoundrel!" Pride and Prejudice hit the coffee table with an unceremonious slap as Hogwarts Head Girl pulled on her green bathrobe, furiously preparing for battle.

"My my, Minerva. You are in a particularly vituperative mood tonight, aren't you?" Tom smiled amusedly over the prone Ravenclaw's body. "However, I'm afraid I don't have time to trade petty insults with you. Though I'm certain you don't believe me, I'm not after Sinclaire's virtue. We just need to have a little heart to heart chat-" Minerva was in front of him in a second, glaring ferociously and blocking his way up to the dormitory.

"She's not sleeping on the couch and I'll be damned if I let you drag her up to your dormitory and have your way with her-"

"Minerva, as peculiar as your preference in same-sex bedfellows is; you seem to have forgotten that I don't like to share-" Riddle managed to edge around her

"RIDDLE! This is not the time for bawdy jokes!" Minerva wondered where exactly Riddle had found his sense of humour and wished that he would lose it again. "I should go straight to Dippet--"

"But you wont. Goodnight, Minnie." Tom turned, smirking, to the stairs, disappearing up the winding stairwell.

"Damn you, you're bloody lucky I don't want to go tearing around the castle at two in the bloody morning! If I hear one org-" Her voice stumbled on the word she wanted but she continued vociferously over the lapse. "I'll be up there faster than you can dress yourself!"

Tom stared down at the fragile, crumpled form occupying his bed and brooded. A Legilimens. It all made sense: the innate ability to tell when he was lying, the clear favour she enjoyed with the professors, and the near impeccable acting skills. The way that her very presence seemed to seduce his senses to the point of distraction. I shouldn't be so surprised, it isn't as though legilimency is a lost magic. It's just that a very, very limited number of wizarding families possess any level of quantifiable skill in it. Occlumens were a dime a dozen, after all, nearly every idiot could empty their mind. But a Legilimens…that was just rarer. Not to mention much more dangerous

He didn't like it, in the petty way that a child doesn't like to be outdone. Even though it was clear she had no idea how to control her legilimency or, for that matter, that she even possessed the skill. Which was lucky, he'd have had to kill her otherwise. Tom's handsome mouth twitched and he felt a tightening around his eyes and stopped himself mid-wince. Lord Voldemort wouldn't tolerate a possible rival, even attached as he was to the idea of having an influential, pureblood female for himself. You know she wouldn't, she isn't like Caoinin. Greedy and selfish and foolishly confident…Tom's hand froze where he had been in the act, the unconscious act, of stroking her hair back from her face. He snatched his hand back and his fingers curled into a fist.

She shifted in response to his sudden movement, rolling on her back and sighing. Maeve's eyes darted under their lids and she mumbled something incoherent, her hair drifting back from her face in disarray across his pillows. As it fell away from her cheekbone, he saw a bluish bruise starting to form in a dash across one cheekbone. How did that happen!? Did Grisham…no, when she hit the statue…because of my jinx. Well, I was justified, not that I need to be. Traitorously, he felt his hand twitch toward his wand, to heal the bruise that marred the otherwise pure cream of her skin. Stop that! He stormed over to the dark green armchair by the fire and glowered at the emerald flames, his fingers tapping an agitated rhythm on his knees. Legilimency that worked even when it's wielder was unconscious was a dangerous skill indeed. That he could still feel that unnatural pull…

What am I to do with her? Maeve was that volatile mixture of beauty, brains and now, power. The kind of power that could sink ships with a song. His kind of power. She's still very useful, she can be shaped. She is not yet unteachable. Caoinin had been his experiment gone awry and luckily, she had not been powerful enough to be anymore than a severe nuisance. Maeve, even without her legilimency, was still an extremely valuable asset. But in order for her to be anything to him, she needed to trust him completely, as Rafe had said.

Amoretentia was an option, or the imperius curse; but those things made for such a predictable relationship. No, a zombified follower would not only be tiring to maintain but impotent as well. Besides, he shouldn't need any of that to…things would have to be done the old fashioned way.

If she didn't have the common courtesy to tell him what he needed to know, he'd take it from her mind. He would console himself with the fact that she'd been using her own mind to subtly but insidiously warp his own perception; it was only fair that he return the favour. Forcing his way into her mind was the only way. I'm too gentle with her, too tolerant…Tom stood up and stalked back over to the bed, sneering down at her unconscious form. Time to reveal your secrets to me whether you want to or not, little viper.

It was easier then walking through an open door, entering her mind. In her unconscious state, she didn't even realize he was there. A cursory examination proved his theory: She had no idea she was a legilimens…he quickly constructed a false memory and stuck it in the place of her memory of overpowering Orpheus. It was patchy work, but it would do.

Her mind had a different climate than he was used to; it was liquid, flowing from one tragic and sloping curve to a pavilion of delicate arches and spider web currents. Mutable, elegant and withdrawn. Every other mind he'd ever encountered had been much more chaotic, a kaleidoscope of colour and detail. Petty, ignorant and loud. The minds of children, which seemed to have no higher function and existed solely for his perusal.

As he moved easily through her mind, he picked up little details about Maeve that he hadn't previously known. Most of it was useless: She liked being outside, especially in the woods. Her favourite time of day was sunset, she loved the colour green and the feel of warm water on her skin-there was a dancing thrill of ecstatic joy that shocked him for a moment as he tried to determine what the feeling was. It demanded his attention, distracted him from searching as he struggled to process the over-excited, frantic images. Finally, he was able to familiarize himself with the rushing, swooping aerial sense: Flying, she loves flying.

Greedily, he started flipping through her thoughts for that same exhilarated happiness. Yes, who do you love, what makes you love? Show me everything…Nothing. Her mind literally shied away from him and he froze, feeling oddly guilty. She would see him now, catch him in the act of invading her mind. But no, her subconscious mind was still focused on her nightmare. Relieved, he tried again and the same images of flying resurfaced, albeit a bit less enthusiastically this time. That was impossible, a girl couldn't be in love with flying and nothing else!

Parents. He commanded, pushing the thought through her head until the appropriate memories surfaced. There was a painful absence of feeling, every recent memory composed of dull colours. Abnormal girl. Some reluctance and resentment was what most functioning human beings felt for their parents, but overall that sickeningly sweet, gushing love was usually at the core of the relationship. Maeve's core held a numb, disgusted kind of apathy. Megaera Atropia Malfoy and Tarquinus Eros Sinclaire were the people who'd birthed her and that was it.

As he was absorbing all of Maeve's reservations, images and dull recollections surfaced sluggishly. There was a cold, striking woman with white-blonde hair and a dour man with wavy scarlet. They did not touch, or even look at one another; if her memory had not supplied a small list of ways in which their facial features and attitudes had influenced her own shape and personality, Tom would never have guessed that these two people were married, let alone that they had produced offspring together.

Sibilings. She had two, Arria and Ambrose. Arria was all in vibrant colours, painted onto the canvas of Maeve's mind with vivid, jealous shades. Memories of Arria shone too bright to dwell on, so bright as to be sickening. But not love to the point of adoration, so he passed over her to the younger brother. Fierce protectiveness coated the thought, Ambrose was depicted in a more tangible form than his sister. Maeve understood him better, related to him. But there was no exhilarating love, just the knowledge of these players in her life.

Tom withdrew slightly, feeling frustrated. She was just as infuriating on the inside as she was on the outside. She doesn't love. This was at once a comforting and terrifying thought. Every mind he could think of loved something or someone, unless it had been twisted irrevocably, unless the person was insane. Or…unless it was his own mind he was looking at. But brilliance is different from insanity as surely as love is different from loathing. Maeve wasn't completely insane and she was brilliant, but not as brilliant as he was. Besides, that didn't explain all the fear and pent up frustration that lurked just beneath the surface of her subconscious. No, He realized. I'm asking the wrong question!

Tom plunged back into her mind with renewed vigor, feeling the exhilaration of discovery as he pushed against her mind with his own: Who did you love? What made you love? The free-flow of memories clammed up immediately and she physically felt his presence, rolling over in bed and covering her head with an arm. She let out a pained noise but he ignored it, clawing at the barrier with unnecessary force.

A woman came first, a woman in a garden with brilliant hazel eyes and a dazzling smile. Her edges were blurred, as though he were looking at her through teary eyes. She was like a goddess, Maeve had worshipped this woman in a way that most girls left for their mother's. Cassandra Pythia Sinclaire: Married a half-blood and was denied the family fortune that should have been hers, she was a seer who was plagued by visions constantly but made no prophecies of consequence, small skill in legilimency, suffered from depression and had loved Maeve like she was the daughter Cassandra's body wouldn't permit her to have.

The colours of the memory turned black and inky and Tom felt a horrible lurching dread. Trying to view the memory was like trying to wrestle with a crocodile; only by a sheer act of mental will was he able to even glimpse it. Maeve was sitting in the garden, maybe ten years old and smiling up at her aunt. Cassandra was carrying a tray, there were tears in her eyes as she handed Maeve a goblet. Maeve brought it to her lips and prepared to drink, trusting in the way that all children are. Arria was there, knocking the goblet out of her hand. It splattered across the rose bush beside them, blackening its leaves. The memory fractured into a thousand painful pieces that he could barely understand. She tried to poison her…The memory was already dissolving to let a second one take its place:

The second face was someone Tom recognized and felt a sharp, steely sense of disgust with. A proud looking boy with fox-red hair and a pleasant, albeit freckled, face. But Maeve had known him since her childhood; he was kind, he was warm, he was funny and she felt comfortable with him. Septimus Weasley: Slight preference to muggles, pureblood, twice her age…he had been her intended. Tom felt a brief stab of unpleasant surprise at this news, but plunged ahead before the painful part of the repressed memory could escape his grasp.

The next flash of Septimus was strong, the memory had happened recently, maybe last year. There was a frumpy, freckly muggleborn girl with him and he was looming over her protectively as Megaera hissed and spat like a wild-cat, terrible in her anger. Megaera's blue eyes were like chips of sapphire, burning with a terrifying malice and focused on a plump red-headed woman and her husband. Septimus strode forward in front of his parents and shouted words that had been carved into Maeve's mind like knife-wounds: _I'd never marry a silly, inbred zealot like your daughter! I won't promise myself to a girl I don't love who's barely fifteen just so that you can maintain your ridiculous standard of purity!_ He hadn't known she was there, that she was listening. But Maeve's pain was overwhelming, crazed and disbelieving. The memory turned black and crumbled to be replaced with a black void of shame and agony.

Tom withdrew from her mind and opened his eyes, staring at the green velvet canopy above him and panting. He gulped the air greedily and glanced over at the girl beside him. She trembled and shook, plagued by nightmares. _She trusted them, she loved them and they betrayed her._ Even to Lord Voldemort, treachery was a hateful thing. There was something warm and wet across his cheeks and he brushed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. His frame shook and he struggled to sit up, his entire form trembling as though he were in danger of fracturing into a thousand pieces. _Get a hold of yourself, they're not your memories. Forget them._

Legilimency was such an intimate form of inquiry, of communication. He'd used it before on others and always for his own gain. But it left him drained, poisoned by a thousand emotions he didn't share, and was yet inextricably linked to for days afterwards. He hated this connection with the mundane worries and joys of others, despised having the flavour of another person besmirching his awareness with their influence. It brought back…memories of his own, thoughts he preferred to hide.

That's when Maeve's scream cut through his skull like a carving knife.

An ear-shattering, blood-curdling scream of terror and pain, the likes of which he'd only heard come from victims of a cruciatus curse. She sat bolt upright in bed and her shriek dissolved into desperate sobs as she realized that whatever demons had been chasing her had been vanquished by consciousness. Tom was too shocked to do anything more than leap off the bed as the door to the dormitory bust open.

"What the hell is going on?!" Minerva McGongall was through the threshold in a millisecond, her normally tidy dark hair sticking up in places and her wand out like a sword in front of her. She stormed towards him and Tom reached back for his own, a snarl coming readily to his lips. Damn the little meddling mud blood-

"STOP!" There was a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye and Maeve was stumbling out of bed and standing between them, holding Minerva back. "I just--just had a bad dream. He wasn't hurting me, I swear."

"That's what they all say, Margaret-" The Gryffindor did not seem content to allow the subject to drop, bravely meeting Riddle's venomous expression with a fiery glare. Maeve rolled her teary eyes and gently pushed Minnie back a step, weary but patient.

"My name is Maeve, and trust me when I say- _I am fine. _You can go back to bed, I'll take care of myself."

"Spending the night in this dormitory would not only be inappropriate but indecent-" She was puffing herself up like a bothered, Head-girl hen.

"Purebloods--no offense meant--" Tom smirked at this, sensing the patronizing undertone to Maeve's otherwise very sincere voice. "--have different standards as far as indecency goes. Do you really want to argue technicalities with me at this hour? When I'm so…distraught?"

Tom felt it this time, because he was ready for it. A tendril of Maeve's persuasive thought reached out and touched Minerva's jagged mind, smoothing out the anxiety like it were a wrinkle in the cloth of her consciousness. Just as he suspected, Maeve was using her Legilimency without even realizing she possessed the skill. Minnie's eyes unfocused for a minute before she shook herself and recovered, looking slightly more peaceful. Lowering her wand, she glared at Maeve and harrumphed loudly.

"You're not going to sleep in your uniform are you? Here, you can borrow this-" Minerva tossed a rather hideous nightgown in Maeve's direction and turned on her heel to leave. She paused in the doorframe and looked back at Maeve with a pained expression. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Minnie shut the door with a firm, definite snap. Tom flicked his wand at it and the door's edges melted into the wall like a wax seal on an envelope. He heard Maeve collapse back on his bed with a little huff of exasperation and turned to glance at her. She had her knees tucked up to her chest, watching him; the only trace of her former distress were the tears still drying on her cheeks and her solemn expression.

"I'm sorry I hit you and called you a bastard…" Maeve's grudging tone shed a shadow over the sincerity of the expression. Her thoughts echoed with an unspoken 'even though you deserved it' that rankled but Tom decided to let it slide. Just this once, because he was too tired to have another shouting match. Perhaps he did deserve it, for panicking simply because she was kissing _him _and not the other way around. It would take him sometime to get use to that, having her approach him.

"I suppose I forgive you for being a slave to the whims of your erratic female hormones." There was a long moment of silence in which Maeve glared at him with a look that was half disgust and half gratitude before the grim set of her lips broke into a wry grin.

"Diffusing the situation with humour. How novel." She rolled her eyes and flopped back down onto the mattress with a long-suffering sigh. Oh, he'd punish her for that. Acting like she was the one who had to put up with histrionics…

Before she could shift to a less maneuverable position, he casually leaned over her body. She realized his aim too late and tried to roll on her side. He quickly put an end to any resistance by pinning her in place with his own body weight. Not enough to crush her or make breathing difficult but just enough so that she could feel every contour of his body fitting into every curve of her own. Satisfied that she would not move or struggle, he placed an elbow on either side of her shoulders and rested his head on his fists, beaming in the seductively malevolent way that only he could.

"Tom, what are you doing?" Maeve's eyes flicked from his own back down his body, looking for a possible method of escape. He raised an eyebrow--just that tiny, infinitesimally suggestive expression--and her cheeks turned pink.

"That, little viper, is a charming blush considering all I'm doing is-" He leaned back slightly, rocking to place his weight on his knees and summon something from his bedside table at the same time he dove down to kiss her. He did not make it a deep kiss, but it was thorough enough to distract her while he caught the willow wand and held it at his side. Expertly, he slid the wand up under the hem of her thin shirt, letting his fingertips stray across her skin teasingly. She gasped against his mouth and her body--_traitorously_, her mind argued--arched up and pressed against his in needy protest as he broke the kiss to speak: "--giving you what you left behind in the common room."

"I-what?" She blinked dazedly as he slid off her and sat up in one easy movement. She pushed herself up on trembling elbows and fished around inside her shirt for a moment, pulling out Cassandra's wand and gasping in surprise. She looked up at him, the mingled expression of shock and joy almost comical, like a child at Christmas. All the glazed over lust had been replaced with child-like exultation as she flung her arms around his neck with the kind of enthusiasm he wished was channeled towards more indecent pursuits as she knocked him backwards so he cracked his head on the bed post.

"Tom! Oh thank you, Tom! Thank you!" Was this the same girl who only hours before he had demanded more affection from? It seemed hard to imagine, with the pain and the glorious scent of her thick in his nose. _Wallowing in her mind for so long has poisoned me._ Tom took effort to be gentle as he pried her hands off from around his neck and pushed her back.

"You are strangling me, Maeve. In any case, you can thank Rafe. He's the one who went dashing off-in the wrong direction-to save you from the fiendish depredations of that idiot. I was halfway through the common room before I saw the err of my ways--for reasons which shall remained undisclosed--as I'm certain you would not approve of my motives." Tom brushed himself off and leaned back against the headboard.

"Rafe came after me alone? Why?" Maeve propped herself up on his pillows, looking completely boggled.

"Rafe feels indebted to you for something, I assume. He has a misplaced sense of duty when it comes to women and after betraying this sense once, he thinks that he must be forever at the beck and call of the opposite sex to make up for it. An annoying habit Rosier has yet to beat out of him."

"I--Rosier? Rosier is Rafe's mentor?" Maeve stared at him in a sort of disgusted shock.

"Yes, but I would not worry yourself overmuch. Adonis does very little actual 'mentoring' and Rafe has never been the impressionable sort. Rosier could in fact, take a leaf out of his book-"

"If Rafe's more responsible than Adonis why is he-" Maeve stumbled on the word she was looking for but he picked it from her mind.

"Why is Rosier of a higher rank? Familial influence." He murmured, twirling his wand in a circle.

"But…you don't even _like _Adonis." Maeve persisted, frowning at him.

"Like? Fraternal affection has nothing to do with it. Besides, who are you to lecture me about friendliness and love?!" Tom spat distastefully, giving her a particularly bitter glare. "You don't even love me, nor do you do a good job of 'faking it'."

"Love isn't-it does much more harm than good." Clear and quiet, her voice rang as true as it would have if she'd shouted at him. Tom set his wand on the bed side table and stared at her emotionlessly. Here was the reaction he'd been trying to provoke.

"Oh?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it-"

"Don't you dare!" He snapped, rather more forcefully than he'd intended. Maeve froze and stared at him with wide-eyed shock. He cleared his throat and continued in a much more sedate tone of voice. "Reticence does not breed familiarity." Maeve stared at him for a moment, a hard, calculating look in her eye.

"You want to know why I don't love people? Shouldn't you be accusing me of heartlessness, of bitterness, of the absence of a soul-" Tom laughed, his high, chilling laugh that echoed in the large room and made Maeve scowl. "Why do you find that funny? I'm being serious-"

"I know you're being serious. But you are asking if I mind? If I mind that you have a brain, that you're intelligent enough to see through lies that have been ingrained so deeply into the human psyche. I don't think you're heartless, I think you're strong. It's not bitterness, Maeve, it's brilliance. But I want to know why, no one is born like you and me…" _There, make her feel comfortable, special and she'll spill her secrets…_ Maeve looked up at him, something like painful hope flitting across her features. Then she hid her emotions and spoke dully, glaring at the mattress.

" When I was seven, my aunt had a vision. She claimed that I would grow up to do horrible things, that I would be the end of the Sinclaire line. That I would be the cause of so much misery and pain that my life was a small price to pay as forfeit. She tried to poison me…her _love _was not enough to stay her hand." Maeve choked on the end of her sentence and the tears spilled forth and she curled in on herself, fingers clenched like talons in the bed sheets. "She loved me, but she would have killed me. And she wasn't the only one, one of the worst, but not the only. Any who ever claimed to love me just didn't, Tom. That's all. They just lied or they conveniently 'stopped loving' when they so chose. What good is love if it cant even save you?"

He could taste the blood of a bitten lip, feel the hot flush of sweat on his neck and see snatches of memories that she gladly would have obliviated from her mind. She didn't want to show him this, unlike many females who had shown him emotion to win his sympathy. Voldemort felt no compassion for them, only irritation. Fishing for pity was despicable and filled him with the same kind of loathing that lying did. Maeve's pain was not a lie.

"Maeve, look at me." She did not respond. "Maeve. Maeve Aldebaran Sinclaire, _look at me!!_"

Maeve's head snapped up and she focused on him, her eyes dark and glistening with fresh tears. Only the darkest woodland glade could have matched that shade of deep, poignant green. The faint candle-light in the room gave her creamy skin a lush, golden tinge. He reached out and gently held her chin, contemplating a kiss.

"There is no love, Maeve. There is only power and those who seek it." His finger slid down the hollow of her throat, over her fluttering pulse.

Few people realized what a horrifyingly fragile thing life was. How incredibly easy it was to snuff out, even without the use of an unforgivable curse. A Basilisk's stare, a sharp knife, just the tiniest excess of pressure on her windpipe…it would stop her tragically feeble heart forever. Tom felt a shudder run through him at the morbid thought, killing Maeve would be such a waste. His hand returned to her cheek, caressing the hollow beneath the bone.

"No love. Only power." Quiet but resonant, her voice seemed tiny compared to his own. Something deep within her intricate mind seemed to fuse, something he couldn't quite identify. The connection between her mind and his sharpened even as he tried to clamp down on it.

Inexplicably, Maeve leaned into his touch. Inclined her head ever so subtly into his palm and shut her eyes. Tom froze, staring at her in complete bafflement. Females had relished his touch before, but something had been missing. They'd always sought to take, to hoard every feeling for themselves alone with greedy, roaming lips and hands. Maeve was content simply basking in his presence, in the pleasure he took from touching her. _Trust, she trusts me._ The effect of that pure trust made her irresistible to him.

Greedily, he crushed her to his chest; delighting in the tiny gasp of feminine surprise as his lips descended on hers in a wickedly fierce kiss. The taste of her was marvelous, the sweet curve of her jaw cupped in the palm of his hand…the succulent scent of her neck and--_the god-damned tie. _He pulled back from her and tried to work the knot with trembling fingers, knocking her hand away when she attempted to help him. Or stop him, he couldn't really be bothered with whatever she was trying to do.

"Tom, I-""No. No, that will do." He growled, abandoning his attempt with the tie and pressing his face into the crook of her neck. _Patience, patience, patience_. He repeated the thought over and over again like a mantra, his pulse pounding a jagged tempo in his chest.

"Tom, are you-" She was holding him again, her fragile little arms wrapped around his shoulders in a tentative embrace. Worry thrummed through her mind in frantically soothing tones as she tried to pull back to look at him and he held her immobile, clutching tighter when she attempted to move.

"I am fine, just fine." His voice cracked on the second fine and he wanted to hex himself in the foot. This was horrid, it was like lust but a thousand times worse. Maeve shifted her weight infinitesimally and he felt a slightly nervous twitch of her mind. _Let her go, you're scaring her too much._ Feeling like he'd been hit with a _pertrificus _jinx, he slowly released her and scooted to the edge of the bed to compose himself.

"It's late. We should…go to bed…" She trailed off absently and Tom felt his throat tighten. _Merlin give me strength._

"We should sleep now." He cleared his throat and stood up, unbuttoning his shirt and making short work out of his own tie.

It was a while later that they were both tucked into bed, Maeve dressed only in his thin shirt. He was grateful that she hadn't even considered wearing Minerva's hideous nightgown. He snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was lying on her back and gazing at the canopy above, staying firmly on her side of the bed. He liked that she respected his space, did not snuggle up to him wantonly and make it hard for him to resist her.

"Why 'Deatheaters'?" She rolled on her side to look at him, a puzzled expression on her sweet face.

"They came up with Deatheaters as a colloquial term, to match their marks-" He reached over and stroked the inside of her slender wrist. "You'll notice that their tattoos are all in the form of creatures that feed on carrion. An unexpected side-effect of an experimental spell. Only until I create a universal mark worthy of their order, then I'll change it."

"Carrion?" She made a face and raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Well, fine. If you really must know their official name was the Knight's of Walpurgis-

"Like the Knight's Templar." She murmured, almost under her breath.

"I'm sorry?" Tom sat up to stare at her.

"They were a muggle order-" Maeve shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze.

"Yes, yes! _I _know what they are; how do _you _know what they are?" Most pureblood children didn't know a thing about muggle history, considering it beneath them to learn. Her cheeks darkened and she refused to meet his gaze.

"My mother had a few books on them, hidden away in her room." _That's strange…the Malfoy's never struck me as lovers of fine literature, let alone such forbidden texts._ Maeve wasn't lying to him, either. He could see the memory like an ancient flicker on her mind.

"Yes, a bit like the Knight's Templar. Only Deatheaters protect and promote the ideals of purebloods, not peasants." He softened his tone encouragingly. It was strange having someone intelligent to talk to…

"Oh. But the name Knights of Walpurgis is noble, 'Deatheaters' sounds like 'bottom-feeders'."

"Yes, well, you will begin to take some form of practical, defensive and offensive spell-casting lessons with the 'bottom-feeders'. As exciting as the last few months have been, experience has proven that I cannot constantly tail you and keep you from trouble." Tom grumbled, rolling over on his back and shutting his eyes to signal that it was the end of the conversation. He felt her weight shift on the mattress and felt her lips brush across his own, quickly and lightly. Every fiber of his body went as taut as a bow string and he winced.

"Goodnight." There was a moment of silence before he opened one eyes to grace her with a sidelong glare.

"You are bizarre."

Maeve just smiled into her pillow as she drifted off to sleep beside him.

~*~

Hmmph. Yes, I know it dragged on at the end. But that was important information that needed to be imparted. Once again, give me a helpful review so that I can improve! I especially love reviews on how I'm developing my OC's, the first gen. Bottomfeeders and Tom/ Maeve. I may start posting re-writes of certain chapters(if I have time) and three other ficlets that I 'started' while agonizing over this chapter. I have a version of this from Maeve's POV, and I'll probably put up a little fic with 'deleted scenes' from my original planning of this chapter. Reviews are always appreciated, don't bludgeon me or anything with criticism if you want another chapter before May but constructive critiques are EXTREMELY helpful…

Again, HUGE thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed so far!

~Artanis


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **_Yo, my home slices XD. No, but for cereal, I have gone EONS without an update and I apologize. Just had a kind of wildly stressful summer and now I'm in COLLEGE. Which means I gots no time, no money and I really should be buckling down and doing homework right now. :/ Meh, I don't like it. Once again so sorry about the craziness of the chapter, really just need to get this chappie out and then I can move on to the duelish one. I wanted to combine them, but that was a seventeen page long chap and didn't feel like that would be very conducive to not boggling your minds :P. So, here 'tis. I make take it back and completely revamp it, but this is a step towards moving out of Hogwarts :P. So dont judge it too harshly I suppose..._

"_In the desert_

_I saw a creature, naked, bestial,_

_Who, squatting upon the ground,_

_Held his heart in his hands,_

_And ate of it._

_I said, "Is it good, friend?"_

_"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,_

_"But I like it_

_Because it is bitter,_

_And because it is my heart." ~_Stephen Crane_, In The Desert_

The rich, creamy flavor of cheesecake was heavy on Maeve's tongue as she lay on her stomach and pored over a weathered, ancient tome called _Infinitum Vivicarum_, translating the ancient runic script to something like English. It was dull, tedious work and her ribcage was starting to feel cramped and squashed. She glanced around Slytherin common room and was calmed by the warm, velvety greens and the glittering, watery shadows. Tom was seated comfortably in a large armchair beside the emerald fire, frowning as he read from a large, untitled black book. His own slice of cheesecake lay untouched on the glass table beside him.

"Maeve, do try to focus. That translation is very important to me and most of those ridiculous whorls and curlicues escape even Malcolm." His normally sibilant murmur held a rough edge of frustration to it.

"Tom." She groaned and rolled over on her back on the carpet, feeling a raw ache in her spine as her stiff body tried to re-acclimate to the shift in her position. "If you're trying to find an immortality cure, you're looking in the wrong place."

"I…I'm sorry?" There was a quiet thump as Tom closed his book and leaned over to glare at her disapprovingly. Maeve rolled onto her stomach again and sat up sinuously, gently taking the large black book from him. He relinquished it with obvious reluctance, scowling as she pried his fingers from it's spine.

Tom liked to think of himself as omniscient and omnipotent, two goals that were practically achievable when you shared a house with a bunch of easily lead, none-too-bright idealists. Having another intelligent person to work with both fascinated and aggravated him. Knowledge was power, and Tom only liked power if he was the one wielding it. Maeve sighed and tried to open the book. And tried.

"It wont open the way." He informed her calmly, his tone cool yet polite. She could feel-with a strange sixth sense she didn't have a name for-Tom's delight at knowing something she did not. There was a childish mocking hidden behind his expressionless continence. Maeve gazed at the cover for a moment before she spotted it: a tiny ridge in the leather, shaped almost like a little mouth.

"It needs a libation." She murmured, glancing around for the goblet of wine he might have used. Tom's smirk widened and she realized her error. Of course, a book like this needed blood.

"I can-" He began tiredly, rolling up his sleeve. But she was quicker, pulling a tiny dagger from the books spine and slashing the fleshy part of her thumb. The little ridge in the spine gaped, revealing a row of menacing fangs. Maeve ignored Tom's look of unpleasant surprise and tapped the blade with a forefinger so that three drops of crimson slithered down the blade and into the book's little mouth. The book fell open in her lap, flipping automatically to the table of contents.

"You did not need to slice yourself, Maeve. I could have-"

"Shush." She waved a hand at him impatiently and picked up her wand, placing it's tip on the book spine. _Show me everything you know of spells and potions to gain immortality._ the book flopped in her lap and flipped to one page, detailing an extremely gruesome, archaic potion and spell combo that detailed a variety of ingredients that were nearly impossible to acquire and didn't necessarily guarantee eternity to the caster. What it did guarantee was certain death if you got anything wrong.

"Here. I promise you it's useless." She handed it back to him, careful to keep it open. Still, Tom was giving her a thoroughly displeased look. "What?"

"You shushed me." He gave her the benefit of one long, cold stare before reading the page. His eyebrows rose and he snorted distastefully, snapping the book shut and flinging it onto the table carelessly. "I knew the information was useless. I did, however, expect you to act on conventional means and politely offer a selection of alternative literature."

"The library here doesn't have the books your looking for. The Hogwarts selection has become extremely limited, Dumbledore and Merrythought took it upon themselves to vet it a few years ago. They sold most of the more…restricted volumes to private collectors. Luckily, my father is one of those collectors-"

"You have the books-" Tom looked suddenly ravenous, his gray eyes burning with a covetous need.

"I may have them, there's no way of knowing unless I owl Ambrose. Then it's a mere matter of smuggling them out of my house. It's easier said than done…"

"You trust you're seven year old brother with books of that nature?"

"He's dealt with worse. Besides, Salix will keep him out of anything truly horrible. I trust that kneazle with his life." Maeve murmured, shaking her head at the rune translation and tossing it aside. She looked up at him, the uncertainty plain on her face.

"Tom…there are safer ways. If you want to live forever-"

"Living forever is not enough. If I someone attempts to kill me and succeeds, I want to come back."

"That's impossible. Why not just make yourself invulnerable?" Maeve looked confused, reaching out and taking his hand in her own so that she could trace the lines of his palm absently, her fingertips running along his life line. It was broken, shattered in seven places.

"That is what coming back entails." He muttered, his tone distinctly petulant and at it's most un-lordly this late at night. He snatched his hand back from her, realizing that he was getting far too fond of her touch. Maeve did not speak, merely shut her eyes and sighed.

"Death…death is not so bad. There are much worse things that could happen."

"Are there? Would you not mourn my death?"

"You just professed to me that you never want to die. If you do not want to die, then I shall never let you. Are you satisfied?" She asked, her face upturned and her steady gaze fixed on him. Tom reached out and stroked her hair back from her forehead, brushing her mind with his own. The emotion in it glimmered, like sunlight on the surface of a pool. Pure, adoring loyalty mingled with attraction. She lay her head in his lap and he moved his hand under her chin, tipping her face up to his own.

"Do you not fear death?"

"No, I do not." She murmured, softly and assuredly. Something about that, those four tiny words in reference to her own end, made Tom shudder with horror. He could not bear to picture it, her cold and broken body. Gray and bloodless and lying in the dirt, an empty and pathetic husk of a human being.

"Tom are you alright?" He gasped, shocked out of his reverie.

"Yes, I'm fine." He swallowed and tried to raze the image from his mind but could not. Why did it bother him so much? He could picture most of those he knew dead and it had never bothered him. It was just- "You need not be so brave. You shall never die, either." Maeve glanced at him for a moment before she burst out laughing and then shrieked as he dragged her up into his lap. "I am completely serious, I pity the death that tries to happen to you."

Maeve smiled up at him, her face incandescently beautiful when graced with such an expression. He reached over and rubbed his thumb across her chin, letting his fingertips stray across her temple. He'd like to preserve this, the emerald eyes and the golden looks. Without realizing it, his hand had slipped to the back of her neck and her smile disappeared, her eyes suddenly intensely focused on his own. Without any further urging, she gently pulled herself up on his shoulders and met his parted lips with her own. The soft warmth of her mouth on his as she kissed with both controlled passion and a sort of gentleness. _I love you, even though I told myself I would never do that again. _

Tom's eyes flew open and his hands froze on her hips for a millisecond as her voice resounded in his head. Maeve did not seem to notice, the only indication of her stress was the way her eyes were shut with that firmness that proceeds tears. _She's projecting…without even realizing it. _She pulled back from him and he nearly fell out of the armchair. This time, her smile had a sorrowful quality to it.

"If only." She heaved a tremendous sigh. "I'll make sure that I enquire about the books you need. I have to go back to my common room…to study-"

Tom snatched her wrist before she could pull away from him fully and spoke before the panic in her eyes could manifest itself, pulling her up against his chest and tucking her under his chin.

"Together, we shall live forever." Her expression was indescribable, but the way her body trembled in his arms said more to him than her words ever could. Lord Voldemort clutched his mistress to his chest and dared mortality to challenge them.

May 1st seemed to dawn early that year, cool and bright across the castle of Hogwarts. An unseasonably chilly morning, Maeve thought as she stood surveying the view from Ravenclaw tower and nursing a cup of hot tea. Sunlight was just starting to kiss the mountain peaks across the lake, turning the water to molten gold.

"What are you drinking?" The male voice startled her so badly she nearly dropped her tea cup, whirling to see a boy leaning on the columned window frame across from her, sipping from a mug. He turned and met her gaze, something quietly tragic in the way he smiled. A seventh year, maybe? He looked familiar…

"Tea." She murmured, taking another tentative sip of the watery liquid.

"Seems too weak a drink for a morning like this. Here. It's coffee." He gently set his mug on the sill between them and gently slid it over to her. Maeve glanced at the cup and then back up at him suspiciously.

"Coffee? What will you drink?"

"The same. Look, I promise I haven't spiked it with anything." He rolled his eyes and conjured another mug, pouring half of the coffee into it and holding it out to her. Satisfied, she set down the weak tea and took the mug from him gratefully. "There, it's probably better for you to have a half a cup at first. Until you get used to the caffeine…"

"Thank you-" She stumbled over his name, trying to remember what it was. Something about the boy's hurt expression made her feel instantly guilty. "I'm sorry I cant remember-"

"No, you're fine. I'm Triton, Triton Davies. Besides, you're allowed to be a little out of it right now. What with it being the day it is." He muttered roughly, taking a large swallow of his coffee so he wouldn't be available to speak.

"Oh, aren't you…exempt from that?" Maeve stared into her coffee ashamedly, horrified to realize that she had started to shake.

"Yes, we half bloods don't have pre-arranged marriages. But drink your coffee and forget about it…" There was something mildly vengeful about the way he'd so carelessly brought up betrothal day. Maeve was toying with pointing this out to him when there was a shattering sound from across the common room.

"Morning, Orphy." Triton murmured, hiding his smile in his mug. Orpheus had been acting strangely since that night he'd stunned her, mostly terrified that _she _might hurt him. Tom must have done a number on him, and for that Maeve would be eternally grateful.

"Just-just wanted some tea! I-uh-breakfast!" He rushed out the door, his cherubic face drawn with terror and his dark curls a wild frizz.

"Insomniac." Triton snorted, finishing his half a cup and collapsing into the velvet cushions of the window seat. "What I wanted to say was that I'm sorry, about the…lack of choice. No one should have to-"

"Most betrothals are from such a young age, we have some time to get used to the idea. Not everyone is as unhappy as they pretend, a marriage of pureblood is necessary." What did Triton want from her? She took a sip of the coffee and tasted it's bitterness on her tongue. The letter she received today would not matter, was unlikely to have any name on it whatsoever. Megaera had long ago given up on securing her second daughter any kind of profitable union, seeing as Arria was going to be married to an extremely well off family this summer. Perfect Arria would bear the standard and Maeve would be left to her own devices, as it should be.

"Don't you ever marry for love, any of you?" Triton tried, something like horror lurking under his shocked expression.

"Love does not matter. What matters is that the magic that runs in every witch and wizards blood remains undiluted. Thank you for the drink, Davies, but I really should be going. I have a life to live, after all." Maeve set down the mug beside him, her features cold and distant. She turned on her heel with a sweep of golden hair and a flash of emerald eyes and was gone, shutting the heavy door behind her.

"I'm sorry." Hathor's voice startled him so badly he nearly knocked over the almost untouched mug of coffee. She positioned herself next to him on the cushions, gazing out over the lake. "That you'll never know her."

"Your sorry? I'm sorry that I upset her…I just wanted to talk to her, just once. Before-" He trailed off, bringing Maeve's coffee to his lips and taking a swallow of it.

"I suspect worple winged flutter-bys. Or something like them." Triton couldn't help but smile ruefully.

"Ah, Hattie. You're so mad it's cute." He ruffled her dark red wavy locks and she glanced at him reproachfully.

"No, I'm quite serious. If things had been ever so slightly different, she might have loved you."

"That's nonsense, Hathor. Enough." Triton shook his head and glared out at the beautiful view. "She didn't even know I existed."

"Maybe that's better. Now what's in your head can never be ruined by reality. Remember her as the girl that smiled at you one day, the one that lent you her notes, remember her in any way that you want. That's what I do." Hathor leaned over a pecked him on the cheek, the action innocent and childlike. "Then things don't hurt so much."

"Everyone seems-" Tom searched for the word and then raised an eyebrow at Maeve's tight, nervous posture. "-tense. What day is it?"

"I don't know." Maeve murmured, fixing a beautific smile on her face and pouring Gloria's goblet of pumpkin juice all over her pancakes. Tom shot her a steely glare but she was clearly beyond recognizing unspoken threats as she choked on her mouthful of sodden pancake. Tiredly, he moved her plate away and replaced it with his own, shifting the pitcher of maple syrup within reach before turning to Rafe. Even his best lieutenant was unusually solemn, nibbling apathetically at the corner of his toast.

"Ahem." Rafe jumped and the toast flew across the table and struck Yaxley in the eye. Tom was astounded when, instead of leaping up and swearing Rafe into oblivion, the large blonde boy didn't react.

"What! Are the owls here yet!"

"What owls? Rafe, don't be cryptic-"

"Tom, honestly. It's May 1st, and your asking for brain cells that are focused elsewhere. Don't expect to get a straight answer from anyone." Gloria Dolohov spoke from her seat between her brother and Blaene Selywn, seemingly unaffected by the strange condition of anxiety that had taken over the Slytherin house. Tom gave the rest of the hall a cursory glance: No one else seemed to be as severely affected, but a few students were casting the Slytherin tables curious and oddly smug glances.

"Perhaps you'd care to explain?" Tom cast her an imperious glance that suggested that when he ruled the world, her death would be a slow and painful thing.

"B-day, Tom. Don't you remember?" Blaene Selwyn examined a dessert spoon thoughtfully, tracing the fluted edge with a forefinger before dropping it to the table with feigned disinterest. "Betrothal day, when all the pureblood families worth their salt send their progeny a letter explaining the details of their arranged marriages. They've done B-day for centuries-"

"Yes, yes! I remember." Tom snapped nastily, annoyed that he had forgotten. His mind had simply been on other things…he glanced over at Maeve. Her skin was white chalk, her lips a mildly darker shade of pale. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her brow and her breath escaped in little pants as she pushed aside her plate and lay her head down on the cool wood, her eyes fluttering closed.

"OWLS!" Evangeline shrieked in a high pitched warble

Their was a synonymous and agonized moan from every Slytherin of age as the owls zoomed through the great hall, swooping and diving amid the rafters with peerless aerial grace. The first letter dropped to the table like it was made of granite and not mere parchment. Other's followed it, until nearly every sixth and seventh year held an unopened letter in his or her hands.

"Haven't you got one?" Gloria asked Maeve, raising an eyebrow at the empty space across the table from her.

"I dropped my quill." Came the noncommittal murmur from under the table as a large eagle owl landed with a threatening hoot. Tom glared at the bird as it bent it's head to pick at the red ribbon that had been used to fasten the offending envelope to its leg.

"Milady, your parents owl-" Rafe began, ducking under the table as Maeve resurfaced, looking harassed.

"Yes, I know, Rafe. Don't call me 'milady' in public!" Tom went to snatch the envelope only to receive a smart peck across his knuckles. He resisted, with great difficulty, the urge to snatch the bird about the neck and throttle it.

Maeve stared at the letter on the table like it was a poisonous spider. The eagle owl, relieved of it's burden ambled around to hop onto her shoulder and glare at her with beady yellow eyes. She reached up and absently stroked it, her hands shaking.

"Well? Are you all just going to sit hit like a bunch of lovelorn cowards?" Caoinin tossed her mane of dark hair over one shoulder, glaring at the girls around her like a vengeful barbarian queen. "To sit and mope while the impure and the blood traitors make a mockery of us? I wont-"

Maeve was reaching for her envelope but Caoinin snatched up her own and broke the seal. "Fine, I'll be the first!" She sang out childishly, whipping open the letter so quickly she nearly ripped the parchment.

There was a moment of heavy silence at the table as Caoinin read her letter, sapphire blue eyes widening slightly as she reread a line or two. Tom made a frustrated noise under his breath and glared at the letter Maeve held in her hands. She was his, as surely as he owned the wand in his pocket. To think that-

"HA! Hahahahaahahaaaa!" Caoinin's hysterical laugh broke through his sulphurous thought and he slammed his fist down onto the table so forcefully he startled Maeve.

"O'Brien!"

"Keep your shirt on, Tom. It's just funny, that's all." Caoinin wiped the tears from her eyes and stifled another hysterical giggle.

"Well, who is it, little cousin? It's me, isn't it? Our parents are just that sick-minded. " Adonis spoke through a mouthful of toast as he read his own letter with a detached air.

"Oh no, it's not you." Caoinin preened, looking every bit like a great black panther just waiting to pounce.

"Who is it, then? Come on, tell us!" Evangeline rolled her eyes and gave an anxious flip with her copper curls. Caoinin tossed her mane of dark hair back and gave another whooping and startlingly masculine guffaw, leaping up from the bench and marching down the row to where a trembling form sat, intensely focused on his oatmeal.

"Well, Black, what do you say me and you go for a little stroll down to the Quidditch Pitch and give our engagement the rousing start I deserves, eh?" She grabbed his chin and roughly kissed his frowning mouth. Breathless laughter rang out from every Slytherin throat near enough to hear Cao's proposition except for one. Tom watched Rafe's face change from an already unhealthy pale to an ashen gray. Stupid, he must have known how unlikely it was that the O'Briens, already a dieing breed themselves, would want their daughter married to a family that was so small, Rafe had no brothers or sisters. The Black's were a proliferous and well-known pureblood surname, their match made practical sense. But stupid Rafe had just continued hoping. Well, it was a lesson for him, a hard-learned one but a lesson nonetheless. He would become a better Deatheater and hence a better wizard because of it.

As Caoinin settled herself down beside Black, she shot a smug look in Rafe's direction. He was too busy staring into his cereal to notice anything more than the hand Maeve slid across the table and held out to him, palm upwards. At first, Tom bristled and his eyes flicked to the letter. Surely it couldn't be-! But no, Maeve's mind was not stricken with panic or filled with nervous anticipation or repulsion. It was graced with a glowing emotion that made him flinch. _Compassion_. Rafe took Maeve's hand hesitantly in his own, glancing at Tom for his reaction. Graciously, Tom pretended not to notice.

" 'Love me, love me…say that you love me'." Malcolm Nott hummed as he carefully unfolded his own letter with as much feeling as he expressed while practicing the cruciatus curse on his fellows. He squinted at the results, took a sip of tea and set the piece of parchment down on the table and slid it over to Tom. "My Lord, if I could be so bold as to ask your opinion-?"

Tom wordlessly snatched up the letter, almost greedy in his haste. He was eager to see how pureblood parents went about pairing up their children, for what reasons matches were made. Other than money and social standing, he wondered if the parents took into account magical skill when they chose for their young. Surely they must, to ensure similar magical fortitude in the next generation? He glanced at the contents of Malcolm's missive:

_Dear Malcolm,_

_We care about you very much and want what's best for you. That being said, your father and I will not attempt to cast this letter in a friendly light; it is purely business. You have always been a very sensible child and we trust you not to do something as stupid or plebian as running off with a muggle like you're useless cousin. We also encourage you to make the transition easier for your sister, seeing as she is receiving her Betrothal at such a young age. This is unfortunate, but desperate times call for desperate measures._

_Enclosed is a list of possible fiancées. We expect you to have your choice mailed to us by the end of the week._

_Regards, Ophelia & Bacchus Nott_

_Evangeline Macnair_

_Olga Carrow_

_Callidora Rosier_

_Fiacha Malfoy_

_Gloria Dolohov-_

"Well…aren't you going to open yours?" Tom glanced up in distraction as O'Brien's voice cut like a razorblade through his consciousness. Maeve was glaring at her with a look of hatred, her own unopened letter clutched in her hands. Irritation shot through him and he dropped Malcolm's letter, folding his arms over his chest.

"Go on and open it. You know it doesn't actually make any difference." He muttered dismissively, shaking his head in disgust.

"Milady, perhaps I should opens yours and you mine? If that is what you would prefer…" Rafe spoke with the utmost delicacy. Maeve glanced at him and wordlessly handed over her envelope, taking his and carefully breaking the seal. Gently, she pulled the parchment from it's envelope. He held her letter in his hand and their eyes met.

"Well, what does it say?" Tom murmured, his tone cold with barely concealed fury.

"It says she can choose." Rafe looked astonished, leaning back from the table.

"What? That's impossible!" Caoinin shrieked, dropping Lupus's goblet of cider in shock. The glass hit the stone and shattered with a sound almost as piercing as her cry of disbelief. Kayne threw back his head and let out a cruel, mocking laugh. "You shut your filthy mouth, Dolohov!"

"Come over here and make me, 'Ninin." The two glared at each other with all the viciousness of a pair of jackals.

"More or less. It says that she can bring her choice home with her this summer…they have to approve him." Rafe pushed the letter across the table and let out a breath. "So, what does mine say?"

"Rafe…I think you should read this." Maeve's hands shook and she handed him the letter. Rafe's expression of relief instantly became one of impassivity. He leaned across the table and plucked it from her hands, flipping it over so he could read it.

"What's it say, mate?" Everett leaned back and read over his shoulder, his eyes popping wide as he choked on a mouthful of toast. Rafe flung an anxious glance towards the Ravenclaw table just as Hattie Lovegood looked up, her usually vacant gaze fixed in shock. "LOVEGOOD? You're betrothed to Hathor Lovegood?"

"Everett!" Malfoy snapped, but not quickly enough to shut him up.

"I-I have to go." Rafe scrambled up from the table as laughter rang out throughout the hall, fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him.

"She's not even pureblood, inshe?" Grendel asked incredulously, snuffling his way through breakfast and holding his letter in his hands.

"She is, actually. Both her parents are pureblood." Maeve murmured very quietly, glancing over her shoulder and then at Ravenclaw table longingly. But no, even from here, she could see Triton had set a protective arm around Hathor's shoulders and was glaring at the rest of the Ravenclaws, daring them to say something. It would be Rafe who was left to deal with his heartbreak alone.

Rafe lay on the Slytherin couch and listened to the steady burbling of the serpent fountain. He'd been lying there for hours, staring up at the ceiling. Hathor Lovegood…he could not reconcile himself with his mothers choice. Clearly, she hadn't been able to advocate for him very well. Not that he'd expected her to be able to, after all, she was not a Lestrange by blood but a lowly Wilkes. She'd been struggling ever since his father died just to be accepted into well-to-do pureblood circles, and not because she wanted to be but for his sake alone. But Hathor Lovegood? Mad Hattie Lovegood was going to become Mad Hattie _Lestrange_? It was impossible.

Life. That's what it is, that's life. He'd known, as every pureblood child knows, that he would have to grow up quickly. That eventually, reality would catch him up. He was expected to marry Hathor, they were expected to have children. This was how it would be. He would never be able to think about Caoinin in the same way again, he refused to let himself. He wouldn't be that selfish-

"Oh." The sound escaped his lips in a soft, pained moan. _But I want to be, I want to be that selfish! I love her… _And now, he would never get to show her how much he loved her. She would be dark and angry forever-

The unsteady rhythm of running footsteps came from the direction of the girls dormitory and Rafe was snapped out of his reverie. It was far too late at night for anyone else to be up, unless they were saying a farewell to their significant others, in which case they wouldn't be running up the stairs. Curious, he peaked over the back of the couch just in time to see Evangeline rush out and stumbled over her own feet. She fell-no, spilled-over the marble, catching herself on one of the cobra's that made up the fountain. She made a sound like a wounded animal, a howl of misery that dissolved into choking sobs.

"Angeline? What's wrong?" He was on his feet in a second, kneeling beside her. She let out a pained sound and tumbled into his lap, grabbing him around the waist and staining the collar of his shirt with salty tears.

"I cant do it, Rafe. I cant face it! I don't want this to be my life…" For all of her histrionics, all of her dramatic fits of emotion, Evangeline was finally sincere in her grief.

"Shush, shush. It'll be alright, Angie. I promise you'll be fine-" He patted her awkwardly on the back.

"I don't want to be fine!" She exclaimed in a half-shriek, smashing her fists against the marble, her grey eyes brimming with tears. "I just want to be happy."

"You can still-"

"Do you know who I'm betrothed to? Do you?" She stared at the veins in the marble floor, her bottom lip trembling.

"Who?" He asked gently, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her. At least Evangeline's misery distracted him from his own.

"Yaxley, Everett. I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life with that insensitive troll! He's in love with Zahara and Athelia Nott adores him and she's betrothed to Abraxas Malfoy and who does _he _thinks he's kidding? Oh that just reminds me that I'm going to have to-" She couldn't go on and let out a groan, covering her mouth with her hand in disgust. The little coughing sobs began again and she buried her face in her knees, red gold curls spilling almost to the floor._ Red hair…Hattie has red hair, only hers is wavy. I kind of like it actually. _He was abruptly struck with the idiocy of that thought and wanted to kick himself. It wasn't as though he had any feelings for Hattie, she was pretty and if it wasn't for the fact that she was loopy, she could easily have been called attractive by the majority of the opposite sex. His misery had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with the annoying frame of mind that, if it wasn't Caoinin, he didn't want it. Evangeline mumbled something incoherent into her knees and then looked up at him questioningly.

"Hathor Lovegood." He answered automatically and winced as he saw Evangeline's face fall and pity replaced her distress.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Rafe."

"She's not so bad, better than Olga Carrow." Rafe smiled at her ruthful, even though all he felt like doing was ranting at life's unfairness. Evangeline laughed bitterly, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

"I just-I've never even been kissed and the first person to kiss me will be him and he wont mean it. I just want one taste of sincere feeling then maybe I can bear the rest of it…Our parents, Rafe, they're so unhappy. My father, he sleeps with his secretary at the ministry and then brings her home for Christmas dinner. My mother, she never stops crying and drinks enough sherry to down a dragon. I don't want that to be me." Her voice cracked pitifully and she looked up at him in a panic.

"What am I going to do, Rafe?"

"You-you are going to continue as you always have. Because you are a strong, pureblood witch and I have every faith in you." Evangeline looked up at him through her cascade of copper hair, her eyes watching him with that wild, trapped animal look. Suddenly, she lunged at him, kissing him full on the mouth.

"Evangeline! What the hell was that for!" He pulled away from her, disentangling himself from her arms.

"Nothing. I just wanted to choose for once. Thanks." She muttered breathlessly, standing up and brushing herself off. She left and he sat there for a moment, wondering if he'd just fallen for another ploy. But no, she had seemed genuine. And he, of all people could understand that need for the freedom to make one tiny choice in regards to your own future.

Gloria Dolohov sat at the head of one of the infirmary beds, fiddling about with a new charm she'd just learned. It was similar to the _incendio _spell, only more of a small charm that was good for lighting candles. There was an unopened book on magical maladies and their treatment in her lap, but for now she ignored it. She loved healing magic, but not enough to study it during her free period when she was already so exhausted from studying for her NEWTS. She was much fonder of using knowledge in it's practical application than acquiring it.

Betrothal day had not been nearly as traumatic as she had expected it to be. She would be married to Blaene of course, and one of the few ones actually happy with the choice. The Selwyn's were a small family, but since she wouldn't carry the name Dolohov and Malcolm had decided on Malfoy's barely of age sister; it was to be _allowed _that she marry Blaene. With a sickening kind of selfish that made it almost believable that she was in fact related to Kayne, she was glad that Nott had not decided to break up such a happy couple by picking her instead-

"Hello, Morning Glory." Gloria glanced up from the tiny purple flame she'd been nursing at the sound of Everett's familiar voice. He spoke with the barest of whispers, tip-toeing past a dozing Madam Yarrow, her snores reverberating around the cavernous room like the soft roaring of a forge.

"Hello, I suppose. What's wrong? Is it your shoulder again?" She asked, setting aside her wand and letting the enchanted flame flicker out. Yaxley was no stranger to the infirmary, but his medical emergencies could usually wait until after lunch.

"Nah, my shoulders…manageable. I just wanted to bring you something to eat and discuss some things with you." Everett looked severely cramped and somewhat ridiculous as he tried to fold his tall, muscular body into a cross-legged position at the foot of the bed she occupied, setting a plate of food on the bed tray.

"Mhmm, well, thanks for the food." She gently set aside the book and pulled the plate into her lap, digging in with relish. If she could just get so deeply engrossed in the food maybe she could ignore the message that Yaxley had come to deliver. In the post-studying haze, she'd managed to lose track of the phase of the moon. Everett had undoubtedly come to deliver the news she'd been dreading.

"Full moon tonight, final initiation ceremony. You must be excited for Blaene…you are coming tonight?" He asked, and even though her eyes were closed, Gloria knew he was looking at her expectantly.

"Don't really have a choice, do we? Be there or be square." She opened her eyes and shoveled another forkful of rice into her mouth.

"Well, well. He said you were supportive, but you just sound bitter." Everett's jovial tone turned to a smug warning and his cold blue eyes flashed.

"Don't make an arse of yourself, Everett. Of course I'm supportive, I just find the idea of joining a cult a little extreme. But hell, everybody's doing it, right?" _You don't scare me, you hulking accident waiting to happen._ Everett really wouldn't have been all that bad, or at least he never had been when they were small. Mulciber had twisted him, shown him how to get a kick out of fear. If you didn't show it, he'd get bored and leave you alone. Or, in Everett's case, he'd feel guilty and apologize.

"Right." He dropped his gaze to the stone floor ashamedly and then glanced back up at her through his transparent lashes. "You know Maeve's being inducted tonight?"

" Is she? Never would have picked her for the fighting type. Or is she operating on the higher plane as Tom's-oh, I'm sorry, _The Dark Lord's-_girl? I'm surprised that attendance isn't compulsory for everyone-"

"Gloria." Something about the way he said her name made her pause mid-rant. She stopped and looked at him, for the first time noticing a deeper emotion behind the bravado. Anxiety.

"Listen: it's one thing to vent at me, but don't do it in front of the others. You could cause trouble for Blaene and your brother. You don't want that, Gloria. Trust me." Something about the haunted look in Yax's eyes chilled her to her core. Despite the numerous injuries Everett received in the line of duty as a Deatheater, he was no coward. "Be smart, Morning Glory. Be there, for their sakes at least."

Everett got up from the bed with a squeak of springs and started to walk towards the door. _Morning Glory. That's twice now. How long has it been since someone called me Morning Glory? _There was something tragic about the fact that she couldn't remember, that everything had changed so much it such a relatively short few years.

"Hey Ev?" Yaxley paused in the doorway and turned at the sound of her voice.

"Yeah?" There was a forcedness to the calm in Everett's voice, any genuinely carefree attitude had long since deserted him.

"Do you think it's wrong…what he has them do?" Gloria murmured quietly, almost frightened to utter the words aloud lest her own doubt make the sentiment a truthful one.

"He has us do what is necessary." Something about Everett's icily handsome features seemed to fuse. "I'll let him know you're coming tonight, just in case anyone gets carried away. It's always good to have someone who knows something about medicine on hand. See you soon, Gloria."

"Bye." But by the time she spoke, he was too far gone to hear her.

"How is my Lady of Love, The Sorceress of Seduction, The Witch of…well, I wont say that one, for sanity's sake." Caoinin's posture stiffened and she snapped to attention, her wand out and at Adonis's handsome throat.

"Go away, Rosier." She snapped moodily, lowering her wand and moving a pawn. The chessboard quivered as it made its own move, destroying her piece as she swore viciously under her breath. Rosier sank onto the couch beside her, an eyebrow raised as he set one arm around her shoulders.

"Please, O'Brien, indulge me." His deep, plummy voice was tainted by a tone that could almost be described as a sulk. She sighed and leaned back against the couch, folding her arms over her chest and harrumphing at the lazy smile that lit his thin lips. He slunk up close to her, placing an arm around her shoulders and tucking her close to his side so he could whisper in her ear: "Now, really, what have you been up to?"

"You'd only tell everyone-" She went to push away, only for him to tighten his grip.

"Now, now. This conversation is just between us, my little cousin. How can you not trust this face?" He simpered broadly, one hand on the inside of her thigh and moving slowly northward. "Besides, I find the little bird everyone else adores extremely boring. She's so very tame-"

"Maeve Sinclaire is about as tame as a wild dragon, you numbskull. Underestimating women will get you killed one of these days." Caoinin glared into his suave expression distastefully.

"Ah yes, it probably will. Be that as it may, you still haven't answered my question. You storm about in a constant fury and nary pay me a sarcastic comment. It's almost like your…planning something."

"Go away, Adonis." Caoinin murmured, gently removing his hand from her chest and rebuttoning her blouse. _Three buttons and I didn't even notice…he's getting better at that._

"Oh, do tell, please. Your depression puts us all in a pout. Pretty please? I find the suspense absolutely dreadful…" Adonis trailed off, tracing the lines on her palm. Despite herself, Caoinin smiled a little but took her hand back.

"I'm going to fight, of course. I wont just lie down and allow myself to be subjected to Tom's stupid ritual. He knows that, in fact I'm fairly certain he's counting on it. But he's going to try and rig it so she wins-"

"Don't take this the wrong way, cousin, but he may not need to." Adonis looked suddenly grim, shaking his head at Caoinin's glare. "Surprising, I know. We couldn't believe it either…she knocked Rafe on his arse first go-"

"Rafe's kindness is his weakness. He'd let me stab him if it'd bring me a moment of happiness." She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"That's what we thought, too. Until she sent Malcolm into convulsions with a single hex. You cant argue that Malcolm's got a kind bone in his body. I'm telling you, Cao, she made him scream like every unkind bone in his body was sprouting spikes. She only held it for a brief second, but even he was impressed. She's good at combative magic, a natural bent towards it. Malfoy says it's in her blood, one of the reasons aunt Megaera married into the Sinclaire family. They kicked arse during the goblin rebellion and it shows. I mean, you should see the mansion, decked out in loot from top to marble bottom-"

"Don't be such an idiot, Rosier. It'll take more than a brief second of pain to keep me down." Caoinin declared, her sapphire eyes glittering with passion.

"Cousin, you should know when you're beaten. He's not taking you back, no matter how much blood you spill. Especially not if it's Maeve's ." Adonis stood up, removing himself from the couch like she had a plague he might catch.

"Then I've got nothing to lose, have I?" The ebony queen pulled out her sword and stabbed her ivory counterpart in the chest and Cao's ruby lips pulled up into a sublime smile. "Checkmate."

"I don't like it." Rafe ground his teeth and resisted the urge to attack the immense lump that was taking up the entire couch. Grendel Mulciber's hideous face was contorted into a squinty look of distaste and he spit a globule of something vile onto the marble less than an inch from Abraxas's hand.

"Shut up, Mulciber." Malcolm's reply was a lazy taunt, filled with resentful agreement. He lay on the rug, flipping through his potions notebook with a similar, if less unattractive expression

"She's not that bad…I mean, not as good looking as her sister-or you, dear 'Ninin-" Rosier perked up and winked at Caoinin, who snorted before downing her tea like a shot and leaving the couch area to go lurk by the entrance with Evangeline Macnair. "But she's blonde and absolutely barmy-"

"I'm blonde." Abraxas murmured quietly from his seat by the fire. Rafe winced at his gentle, unassuming interjection and shot him a very stern look. _Now is not the time._

"Well done, Malfoy." Everett muttered, rolling his eyes skyward with a hint of annoyance. Adonis looked confused by the interruption. Blaene Slewyn rolled over on his back and threw a hand over his eyes.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! You're like a bunch of quarreling old biddies, always moaning about the same rubbish day in and day out-" His speech trailed into oblivion.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to be!" Avery pouted, his arms folded over his pigeon chest. "He was supposed to get bored with her."

"Oh shut up, Vance. You're like a tiny child, you want to have your cake and eat it too." Malcolm's voice took on a terrible flatness, the numb, dangerous tone that made him a master of the cruciatus curse.

"Vance is right, Nott. It's not fair that she gets what we've worked for, what should be a real Slytherin girls-" Kayne scrubbed a hand across his stubble, scratching his pointed chin and glaring into the emerald flames.

"Life isn't fair, you twat-" Rafe snapped, the irritation that had been building striking it's boiling point.

There was a sudden shriek of protest and the squeak of springs as Kayne leapt up from the opposite armchair. He stormed over to Rafe and stood there, his nostrils flaring and his narrow, weasel-like face contorted in a look of fury. The rest had gone silent, except for a low whistling sound from Rosier and a grunt of anticipation from Grendel, the Deatheaters made not a peep.

"Have you got something to say to me-" Kayne began in his most threatening, venomous voice. Rafe did not feel afraid, he was much faster than Kayne and much better at defensive spells. As long as Kayne didn't manage to disarm him.

"Yeah, I reckon he does. But I've got a better idea, it's loads more fun than bitching about a Sinclaire-ian heir." Blaene Selwyn, an unlikely savior, rose to the balls of his feet from the loveseat he'd been occupying. "Need I remind you just how pure she is, and just how much familial influence she's got? Just 'cause she wasn't sorted into Slytherin you doubt Tom's judgement? You great mangy tosser, come over here and pick on someone your own size. I owe you a good arse-kicking."

"That's not wise, Selwyn." Malcolm muttered uninterestedly , scribbling the occasional note onto a piece of parchment at his elbow. Kayne turned away from Rafe, showing his teeth in a snarl.

"Shush, shush, Malcolm. It's been ages since I've seen a good fight that wasn't a pre-arranged duel." Adonis sat up straighter, perching on the edge of his seat. Kayne came barreling across the common room like a charging bull, knocking over a table and vaulting over the couch. Despite his rangy figure, he lacked in grace almost as much as Mulce. Rafe knew better than to hang about the common room with either of them and easily slipped between Lupus and Abraxas and out the door, the sound of swearing and laughter reaching him just as the wall ground back into place.

Tom would punish them for fighting the muggle way like that. Rafe took a moment to stretch, let the delicious freedom of movement rush up his spine in a hedonistic pull. Often, the combined company of the rest of the Deatheaters was claustrophobic. When they weren't doing something for Tom or on rare occasion actually studying, they got bored and found other depraved ways to amuse themselves. Adonis had his imperio'd mud blood harem, Kayne and Mulciber had their dueling/wrestling rampages, Avery liked to crucio anything and everything he could get his hands on, Nott spent endless hours reading books on the Dark Arts with the tenacity of a Ravenclaw-There was a rumbling sound from behind him and he jumped away from the door, his wand out and at the ready.

"Twitchy little lapdog aren't you, Rafe." Caoinin's curvy figure melted into view as she emerged from the shadowed passageway . Rafe turned on his heel and stormed off without bothering to reply, hiding from her both his surprise and disgust. She padded after him in barefeet, the only sounds between them the soft footfalls and equally as soft swishing sound of fabric.

But Caoinin could not be ignored for long. She sidled up to him no matter how quickly he walked, until he could smell the tantalizing, dark smell of her perfume and hear the swish of her black satin night robe that showed as much as it hid-

"What?" He rounded on her with a snarl worthy of Kayne on his lips. Caoinin took a dainty step back from him and glanced coyly up through her lashes.

"Poor Rafe, empathy's a curse no self-respecting pureblood should be forced to bear. But you've got it in spades." The tremendous amount of energy it took not to snap at her was physically taxing. He shrugged off the hand she set on his shoulder and collapsed onto the bottom step of the gigantic stairwell that lead out of the dungeons, leaning against the banister in exhaustion.

"Go away." His tone lacked conviction and she merely chuckled, running one long fingernail from the base of his spine up to his neck; slinking her hands around his shoulders and kneading the tense muscles there. It felt sinfully good.

"You let Kayne upset you."

"You were spying on us, then, weren't you?" Rafe murmured, tipping his head back a little and leaning into her touch. She abruptly withdrew her hands and he nearly fell back into her lap.

"I'd hardly call it spying," Caoinin's features took on a pinched look to them. "spying would imply that the information was carefully guarded and not bandied about in the common room like gossip."

"Touche." Mollified, she began to massage his shoulders once more.

"But you're right, the topic of conversation caught my interest."

"Caoinin-" Rafe's breath caught and he bit his lip. It was the first time in ages that he'd called her by her full name.

"Even the little things have significance for you. It's just my name, Lestrange, and you haven't used it in a long while." Her fingers traced a swirl across his rigid vertebrae, her voice soft but bitter as venom. "You see things the other's don't. You're the only one who sees the bigger picture, you're just too devoted to Tom to admit it. Never fear, Rafey dear, that's why he keeps you around, its your purpose."

"We're friends-" Why did she keep changing the subject on him?

"Oh, grow up, Lestrange! You're no more friends then he and Maeve are lovers and you know it!" She threw up her hands in frustration, an angry breath hissing out from between her teeth.

"Feeling nostalgic towards the bedroom, are you? Missing your oh-so-important role that we all know you so love to fulfill with anything that's got a pulse?" Rafe immediately regretted the words. He heard Caoinin's intake of breath, the way it rattled with effort.

"Better, but not perfect. You're more like them everyday." She said it with a quiet kind of sadness that so rarely graced her rich voice. Rafe turned to look at her, to really look.

Her head was tipped to the side and she gazed at a painting of the night sky, the green lamplight catching her porcelain skin and turning the gentle slope of her throat to marble. Dark, midnight curls spilled over her shoulders like water. The tears streamed down her cheeks, wetting her full, pouty lips. Unable to help himself, he reached out to touch her cheek. As soon as his fingers touched her skin, she jerked her head up and the smile was quick and false.

"You're more like me everyday. More like Maeve, more like Tom." Caoinin's tiny laugh was burdened with pain. With the speed of a cat, she knocked his hand away from her face and stood up, backing away. "Save yourself, Rafe, you don't want this. You…you're so _good_."

"I'm good? What the hell does that mean? Cao, let me help you-" Rafe reached out towards he but she shrugged away from him, wrapping the black lacy robe tighter around herself.

"Help yourself, Rafe. Because Merlin knows you're too late to help me, Maeve's a little bird that's flown into the net willingly and Tom…well, he doesn't need help, does he?" Rafe snatched her wrist before she could get another step. She whirled on him until their noses were practically touching and he felt the tips of her long fingernails dig into the thin fabric of his shirt as she shoved him backwards so he fell backwards up the stairs. Looming over him and looking every bit the conquered but not tamed barbarian queen, she folded her arms under her ample bust and sneered.

"Do you remember when we were children? Lupus was playing with his father's wand and accidently shot a bird from the sky. He sheared off one of it's wings, I think, got the blood in Abraxas's hair. But it was still alive, still gasping and lying there in shock. I didn't really care for it, all Abraxas cared about was his hair, of course, and Lupus was crying. Do you remember what you did?"

"I…I held it, I held it until it died." Rafe could remember, with horrible clarity, the fragile little bird lying in his hand. Tiny, delicate claws clenching and unclenching on his thumb, it's jewel like brown eyes gazing up at him in shock as it stretched it's one remaining wing, confused. The little beak opening and closing as it's frail heart sped to a crescendo and finally stilled…

"Why, why did you hold that stupid bird?" There was an edge to her voice when she said it, trying to hide the terrible, tragic smile that improved upon the beauty of her face.

"It was, it was in a lot of pain. I didn't want it to die alone." He had not wanted it to die at all. What must it have been like, to be that innocent bird? One moment, soaring through air and knowing all that was joy in the world…the next, dieing in a way that you'd never expected, dieing too soon. _But at least it was in my hand, at least it was warm and held and safe at the end. At least it was loved…_

"Don't you see, Rafe? How can you go from the little boy who cradled dieing vermin to the man who'll kill mud bloods? I cant picture it…just like I cant picture myself ever loving anyone as much as I thought-think-I loved Tom. Or maybe I just loved the idea, but whatever that was…it's gone. I don't need anyone but myself to survive. Get it through your head, I don't need you." Caoinin leaned down and gently, ever so gently, kissed him on the forehead. He shut his eyes and savored the millisecond, let the memory that this would become cement itself in his brain. Then, she pulled away, and he watched her walk off without a backward glance, returning into the greenish murk of dungeon torches.

**End Note:** _So, that originally had a lot more fight scenes, but as I said before, next chapter will be the grand swearing in of the Knight's. I figured it conflicted too much with the Betrothal chapter :P. But let me know and maybe I'll change it. So sorry for the long wait and the kind of fic-letty chap! Please R & R, my darlings! And a happy Samhain to everyone! :D_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's Note: **_Agh, rushed this one a bit guys. Sorry, I've got first day of new semester tomorrow and the threat of being homeless hanging over my head for weeks. I rushed this one a little, so it may be subject to later editing. Also…anyone interested in a look at what happened over Maeve's Christmas holiday? I had originally written it to be part of a chap and then decided it was too long. But I like the writing in it…we'll see, it's up to you guys…

Ah, and special thanks to Laina26 for just being awesome! :D 3

_"She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood." ~ Neil Gaiman_

Ambrose Sinclaire perched in the large green armchair and dangled his legs over the edge, reading Maeve's letter to him intently and stroking Salix, the family's white kneazle. As a general rule, the only excitement the youngest Sinclaire got was reading letters from his older siblings, and this one had a very adventurous tone to it. Maeve wanted him to find her some books, some of father's oldest books.

"What are you doing, Ambrose?" The young boy nearly toppled out of his chair in surprise as Megaera Sinclaire entered the room, her butter-cream hair bobbed short around her neck and ears, every curl perfectly coifed. She was a tall, imposing and utterly beautiful woman with lines of age only just beginning to show around her eyes and mouth. Her features were sharp and remote, the dark blue of the draping dress robes she wore on her ridiculously slim figure making her large, cat-like eyes appear a glacial cerulean. She arched one almost invisible eyebrow at him and there was a gentle hissing type of sound as her long nails traced across the marble mantle piece as she reached out with her other hand and seated herself in the chair across from him, every movement serpent-like and lean. A house-elf called Bobbin popped into existence at Megaera's elbow and placed a goblet of white wine on the small table between them.

"Nothing, Mother. Just reading a letter from Maeve." He said and quickly, but not so quickly that he might seem suspicious, stuffed the letter into his robes. Megaera made a sound of distaste as he said his sisters name and he winced.

"Oh, she's practically a squib. Nothing like you and Arria-" Megaera gestured with the hand that held the goblet and a bit of the liquid slopped out over the lip. "You'll be the real legacy your father's looking for. Especially Arria, after she gets married this summer, of course. Arria Medea ROSIER…or ROWLE, somebody with an R who pureblood parents would practically _pay _to marry their daughters. Or just fuck them-" She screamed her last sentiment up at the ceiling, clearly it was a drunken comment meant for father.

"But that's too much for you to hear, isn't it?" Megaera leaned across the table and took his chin in her cold, elegant fingers and placed a carefully precise kiss on his forehead, her breath smelling sour with wine. "Bobbin, put him to bed, will you?"

"I can go up myself mum, don't worry about it." Ambrose sighed and hopped up from the chair, trying to ignore the sound of his mothers drunken tittering behind him.

"You must write back to her, Amby Darling. Tell her how much I _love _her and how much I strongly suggest that Elphabus Crabbe." Megaera's cackle seemed to echo off all the flat, cold and shining marble like the sound of shattering glass. Salix tripped out of the room after him, her white plumed tail kinked in irritation as she rushed out of the room at his heels. Bobbin the house-elf hurried along behind him, straightening her dishtowel as she went.

The interior of Sinclaire manor was nothing like a 'home' should be, especially in the winter. It was practically a fortification, a miniature castle. And just as drafty. Ambrose, shivered as he crossed the large entrance hall, using all his strength to push aside the heavy door that lead to the more business related side of the house and started off down the long corridor. The lavishly rich pureblood House of Sinclaire had spared no expense into making their home(and those of the future generations) into a spectacular mansion. Adorned with artwork and furniture from as far back as the fifteen hundreds, velvet curtains hung from every window that had been built to accommodate them. Floors and tabletops were done in varying shades of marble all with a distinctly beautiful feathery pattern. Anything that could be was gilded, silvered or just extravagantly painted was.

It was no secret where the family funds had originated from: Not only was Tarquin Sinclaire a particularly gifted physician at Mungo's, but Sinclaire family had been prominent figures in suppressing the goblin rebellion(There was even an old armory on this floor, Father kept it for something he called 'posterity', filled with relics and dragon skin plate armor.) nor had the family had any qualms about stealing from muggles. Despite a 'moment of weakness' where her grandparents were concerned, the family was extremely purist and loathed muggles to the utmost degree. Any respected wizarding book on the family would say differently, of course, but it was clear to every pureblood family with whom they were acquainted that the Sinclaire's were ruthless enough to make the Malfoy's look accommodating.

Ambrose finally came to a large, mahogany door at the end of the twisting corridor and pushed it open, careful to peer around the corners and make sure Father wasn't present. The room was decked out in dark, tudor-rose red from floor to cavernous ceiling. The candles were unlit in their holders, but ignited as he entered. He tip-toed inside, scuffing up little puffs of dirt as he strode across the ancient rug that bore the family seal: A bird of prey with large, wise golden eyes adorned the threadbare blue fabric, clutching in it's right talon a sword and a wand wrapped in ivy in it's left. In it's beak was a small laurel wreath and behind it, a triskele in green and silver thread. Their was an arrow protruding from it's breast and on a small, furled banner at it's base, held in the jaws of two serpents; were the words _Magicae est potens._ Magic is might.

"Master Ambrose?" Bobbin queried, her voice piquing upwards at the end of her sentence nervously. "We shouldn't be in your father's library. It's no place for a young boy-"

"Enough. I need your help with something, Bobbin. Maeve wants books on immortality. How to prolong lives-"

"Master Tarquinus would not want you looking at such things, they are not for a child's eyes." Bobbin whimpered, cowering and looking around the dark, dusty library fearfully. The house-elf had fresh bruises on her face, and one limpid green eye was swollen shut. Ambrose felt something jerk unpleasantly in his throat and winced, kneeling down beside the house-elf. The gesture really wasn't necessary, since Ambrose was rather small for his age, but he felt like it was the right thing to do for poor old Bobbin.

"Alright. If you're scared, Bobbin, you can go. But I'm going to help Maeve, because Merlin knows that Mum'll give her a hard enough time as it is-"

"Master Ambrose, I is not the one I am worrying about. I is worrying about you, young sir. These are not the books to be looking in…" Ambrose strode between the rows of bookcase easily ten times his height, the ladder following him along the shelves obediently.

He climbed it a few times, searching high and low for the subject matter he needed. There were hundreds of hand-written tomes, devoted to many different arcane subjects. Maeve, when she was home, would spend hours hiding in this library. She'd read over a third of it, an impressive feat considering much of it was written in runes and languages uncommon to the human ear. There was a large book in a shell-shaped basin bound with scaly, sea-green leather composed entirely of strange swirleyques and pictograms of fish creatures and shells that Maeve had once read to him; making hellish sounding screeching noises in her throat. He'd been horrified before she'd had him stick his head in a cauldron full of water and spoken into it. _Mermish._ Ambrose had no brothers and, at his best, Tarquin Sinclaire was an absent father. He'd always looked up to Maeve…

"Master, I have found the books." Ambrose hopped off the bottom rung of the ladder and reached for them.

Bobbin clutched them to her chest and raised one knobby finger in a cautionary gesture. "I is only letting young master have them if he promises not to look, but to owl them straight to Mistress Maeve."

"Don't you care if Maeve gets hurt because of them?"

"Mistress is old enough to take care of herself." Bobbin murmured quietly, her bottom lip trembling. Another words, Maeve wasn't a concern to the family so her well-being was less important. Ambrose sighed and held out a hand for the weathered chest Bobbin was holding. The house-elf glared at him shrewdly and shook her head.

"Promise, Master."

"I promise," Ambrose muttered, but still she looked suspicious. "Oh fine! I promise not to read them."

As the books traded hands, Salix hissed and the fur on her back went up. The young boy was suddenly gripped by that jarring fright of being about to fall and dropped the chest in a panic. The kneazle hissed and took off, her peach-colored, plumed tail disappearing behind a mahogany bookshelf. Bobbin winced and picked up the case.

"Young Master should let me carry it." She murmured, some of the smugness in her squeaky voice overshadowed by her fear.

"Are you sure?"

"I is certain." Together, boy and house-elf left the library and it's menacing contents behind. The candles snuffed themselves out as the heavy, darkly stained doors closed with a heavy clunk.

"But professor, I don't understand! This paper-why, it's more than satisfactory! I copied down all of Silvia Eastwick's seven theories of transfiguration and the twelve methods of experimental casting work she used to hypothesize-translated from ancient runic! Sir, please! If you could just tell me how I can improve-" Maeve stared in disbelief at the roll of parchment clutched in her hands, unable to take her eyes of the large T scrawled in the corner of it. The comments professor Dumbledore had written in the margins were practically cutting, marking her down for petty mistakes. Granted, she probably had not given her full attention to the work considering she'd been trying to spend more time with the Knights; but that hardly warranted this kind of grade.

"Maeve, you are one of my best students but even you must learn to accept defeat gracefully! My dear girl, that kind of grade merely brings you down to an Exceeds Expectations which is hardly failing-"

"But sir-!"

"Ms. Sinclaire, need I remind you that you are not the only student in my classroom. Please, be seated!" Maeve turned away from his desk, nearly in tears. She was miserable until the bell rang for end of period and she could leave. Dumbledore caught her just before she left the classroom, his expression repentant. For some reason, this angered her immeasurably.

"Maeve, I think you should focus first and foremost on your studies. I know Riddle can be…difficult to refuse, but really, a young lady of your caliber should-" Maeve pulled away from him"I'm sorry, sir. What exactly do you think Riddle and I are doing? I can assure you it's not what you think it is, or anything that would in any way distract me from my work in this class. It's saddening that you think so little of your female students, sir. Goodbye." Maeve shoved her way out the door, tears spilling out of the corner of her eyes.

Oh, she was upset. Sad and insulted, but utterly furious as well. How dare some petty, irritating professor bring her to her knees for absolutely no reason then his own disapproval in light of the kind of company she chose to keep? How _dare _he!

_You could always poison him, watching them writhe is always satisfying_. Vance Avery's voice tittered inside her head, teetering on the edge of sanity.

_Pain, pain is the great motivator and the best deterrent. Human's will go out of their way to avoid pain. _Malcolm whispered in her ear, his voice in her mind like a sliver of glass.

_Imperius is always good for framing victims…have him go for a student._ Adonis chuckled blackly, his sea green eyes glinting with delighted deviousness.

Maeve indulged these thoughts of vengeance, if only so they would not become a reality. A girl was muttering about her as she walked past…something terrible by the sound of it. She was feared now, if only by association, but also hated. The hatred was irritating, but the fear had it's benefits. Maeve her head and smiled at the little rumor-monger, the kind of smile that a crocodile might give a gazelle just out of it's reach. The girl went quiet and immediately remembered a previous engagement.

_It was good_, Maeve thought, _to be a Knight-in-Training_

"_Imper_-"

"_Expelliarmus_!" Adonis's wand soared into Maeve's outstretched hand. Tom's lip curled from where he sat by the fireplace, the dark green flames casting his features and those of his surrounding death eaters in a ghastly corpse light. Adonis glanced at him, looking distinctly terrified that he would be blamed for Maeve's lack of violent reaction yet again.

"Rosier, you're too slow. Do not hesitate against a victim who knows what's coming. Maeve, this is a duel. Incapacitate your opponent, do not merely defend yourself. Again." Tom's voice was dagger sharp, his eyes flinty as he twirled his wand between his fingers.

"_Impedimenta_!" Rosier gritted his teeth and attacked again and again, forcing Maeve backwards across the circle. She blocked with unerring precision and Tom gritted his teeth and clenched the arm of his chair white-knuckled.

"My Lord-" Rafe murmured quietly, reaching out to set a hand on his master's shoulder. Tom jerked his arm out of Rafe's grasp and sucked in a breath as Rosier cast a stupefy that missed by a wide margin.

"Attack him-! Don't just…" But the two combatants were too embroiled in their passive duel to take any notice of what Tom was shouting.

"_Protego!_" Maeve gasped, dancing from side to side around the flashes of red light. "_Protego_!"

Tom let out a frustrated snarl and stood, knocking over the armchair he'd been curled in. Abraxas only just scrambled out of the way as it shattered the glass table behind it. Adonis halted his assault and lowered his head in submission as Tom strode onto the dueling platform that the room of requirement had created for them.

"The pair of you, off. Nott, Lestrange. Here now." Tom tried to resist the urge to grin triumphantly when he heard Maeve's gasp of fear. Rafe stepped to the platform without hesitation, but glanced at Maeve quizzically.

"My lord? What kind of duel-" Malcolm began, his body tense and trembling with anticipation. It was the only sign of stress that ever manifested itself in his continence. Tall and pale, with curly sandy hair almost the precise same tone as his skin; Malcolm cocked his head to the side like a curious bird and looked to Tom with bland green gray eyes."Practice your cruciatus, if you would." Tom shrugged out of his robes, tossing them to the side and striding off the platform. Casually, he gently gripped Maeve's tense waist and pulled her against him so that he could clasp his arms in front of her. Now, she could not look away. "Begin."

"_Impedimenta_!" Rafe went to his knees, he had hesitated at that vital moment, trying to understand why Tom would want to punish him when during the whole meeting, up until this point the had done so well. Maeve felt Tom's arm twitch slightly as Malcolm shouted the terrible curse.

"_CRUCIO_!"

Maeve's body jumped in Tom's arms as Rafe's blood-curdling scream shattered everyone's eardrums. Malcolm's face held a terrifying blankness, the corners of his lips curled into an almost smile that didn't reach his eyes as Rafe's body twisted and jerked like someone was stabbing him. Malcolm's jerked his head strangely, familiarly, almost like he was stretching his neck to ward off some kind of stiffness. Tom smiled into Maeve's hair even as he felt her tremble, her wand arm tensed like a coiled spring. Rafe was crying with agony now, begging.

"Malcolm, stop it! Malcolm, that's enough!" Abraxas stepped forward, looking wildly terrified. Tom ignored him, gritting his teeth and focusing on keeping Malcolm deaf to anything but the imperius curse he'd laid on him. Rafe clawed at his throat as his back arched off the floor in another wave of agony.

Maeve exploded out of Tom's arm and whirled, her wand out and pointed at Malcolm's face. She struck like a snake, her mouth open in a snarl as she screamed the spell to the vaulted ceiling:

"_CONFRINGO_!" The marble at Malcolm's feet exploded as violently as if he'd stood on a landmine and he was launched backwards, slamming into the wall and slumping to the floor at it's base. Rafe's screaming cut of immediately, ending in a choked sobbing gasp.

"Oi, I was watching that-" Grendel Mulciber complained indignantly, getting ready to heave his bulk onto the raised platform. Maeve spun on him and raised her wand, looking vicious.

"_Adflicto cruenti._" Grendel stopped in his tracks and clutched his throat, gasping. From the other side of the room, Tom began to laugh. He hopped up onto the platform and held out a hand to Rafe, pulling him to his feet.

"Well, do you continue to doubt her capabilities, Grendel?" Tom smiled down at the hulking troll that was Mulciber, who was still clutching his throat and unable to speak. He was making a horrible guttural wheezing in the back of his throat and was gesturing desperately to Abraxas, who was eyeing him like whatever Maeve had done was contagious. Suddenly, Grendel coughed and a fount of bright red blood spattered across Abraxas's face. The others recoiled in terror, Abraxas's white skin and platinum hair turned to ruby and copper as he desperately scrubbed at himself. Grendel fell to his knees and started to vomit blood, a wild kind of terror in his eyes.

"Maeve, dearest, anymore and he'll start coughing up chunks of brain. Chunks he cant afford to lose." Tom flicked his wand at Grendel's throat and released him from the particularly nasty spell. Maeve's expression was cold and fierce as her attention shifted to him and he grasped at the tendril of emotion that emanated from her mind. Before he could identify it, the violent emotion jerked out of his reach.

"He's alive, just in case anyone cares." Gloria Dolohov's voice echoed from the other side of the room as she helped a shaky Malcolm to his feet. "Suffering short term memory loss, but not dead."

"Yes, thank you, Gloria. That will be all." Tom said in a dangerously cool voice, surveying the remaining death eaters. "Maeve, would you like to-"

She fell clumsily into a green armchair, staring at her wand arm like it didn't belong to her. She'd tracked in some of Grendel's blood and there was a mark where her heel had slid in it as she fell into the chair. The soles of her shoes glinted wetly with it's sheen, coating the black rubber like a lacquer. Grendel scuttled back feebly, his immense form curled into a fetal position by the fire.

"Hmm, that's enough for tonight. Blaene, mop this up. Gloria-no need to putter about him-most of the damage was illusory, he's just lost a bit of blood. Maeve-" He conjured a crystal goblet and filled it with water from his wand tip and handed it to her. She held it limply in her hand, her eyes still fixed on the pool of blood at her feet. It was a moment before all the Deatheaters had filed out, ready to return to the common room after such an unsettling meeting

"You did well tonight." Tom, his tone surprisingly soft, knelt beside the armchair she was slumped in. She stared back at him, her expression horrified.

"You used Rafe to manipulate me into hurting them." She replied aghast, looking at a speck of ruby where it had spattered on the curve of her hand. She rubbed it away on the upholstery, wincing in disgust.

"I did what was necessary."

"No, you did what you wanted-" She stood up, her fists clenched in defiance

"You silly girl, know I will do whatever it takes to show you yourself!" He brushed the droplets of blood with his thumb and they smeared across her cheekbone like rusty stains. "You are a powerful witch, Maeve, not some ineffectual mud blood."

"What good is it torturing Rafe going to do? Except enrage me?"

"You attacked on behalf of you're comrade, you did not merely defend yourself. I did not make the decision to provoke you for my own selfish means. It was to prove to them that you are worthy, it was to make them respect you." Slowly, her glare faded and grim understanding replaced it. She laid a hand on his breast in a placating gesture.

"I'm sorry then, but hurting Rafe was _unnecessary_-" Tom felt something poisonous writhe in his chest and went to pull away.

"You are far too fond of Rafe-" He tried to back away but her fingers were caught up in his tie like devils snare and she pressed closer.

"Tom don't be ridiculous! I lo-" She stopped herself and took a breath before continuing, wincing in pain. "I'm loyal to you, of course. Rafe's a friend."

Tom raised an eyebrow at her, searching her face and skimming lightly over her mind at the same time. Truth, of course. He reached up and brushed at the dried blood on her cheek, gripping her face and bringing her lips up to his own. _You are mine entirely. Now, if only you would listen._ The jealousy was mostly a ploy, he decided. After all, he couldn't really feel jealous of Rafe. His lips brushed the bridge of her nose and he pressed them against her forehead. With a tone as soft and as cold as snow, he spoke:

"Fight as I know you can, as I know you will. But deny your nature again, hesitate, and someone else will suffer. If I was being tortured-"

"Don't be silly, you're much too good a duelist to make a stupid mistake."

"True." He smiled into her hair and breathed her scent. "But the hypothetical scenario remains: If I was being tortured, I'd expect you wouldn't waste time feeling torn about whether or not to curse my attacker."

"Curse them? I'd _kill _them." She murmured, kissing him on the chin.

"That sounds more like the first female Knight of Walpurgis I know." He pressed his lips quickly to her forehead and pulled away to pick up the books, smiling to himself.

"But I'm not…you're having me inducted? But I just-"He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked shocked, astonished but exhilarated.

"You're ready. Mostly. All you have to do is duel Caoinin." _And torture her, which will be the real test. _

"Oh. That's all, is it?" She muttered wryly, rolling her eyes and kneeling to stuff the parchment back in her bag and set aside the giant book she'd been translating. Tom chuckled at the thinly veiled sarcasm.

"Don't worry, my little viper, she's too emotionally involved to duel well." He sighed and then something about what he'd said struck him: too emotionally involved. The unpleasant sensation of sinking struck him and he stiffened as she reached out to touch his arm.

"Tom? What is it?" She withdrew her hand and looked up at him in confusion, clearly upset by the sudden change in mood.

"Nothing. It just occurred to me that maybe having you duel on your own time with the rest would be better then the entire meeting being focused entirely on bringing you up to snuff," He changed the topic with alarming ease, his tone slightly cooler than before. "Get to know each of them, earn their respect separately and then rule them as a unified whole, allowing each to feel more cherished then his brethren."

"That seems rather…cut-throat to me." Maeve replied, placing a careful distance between him and herself. Tom stretched out across the armchair, one foot on the arm and one leg hanging off the edge. The thin white fabric of his school shirt stretched over his lean abdomen and he turned his head to smile at her, dark hair hanging in his steel gray eyes. There was something beautifully seductive in the quirk of his lips, in the covetous expression he was casting her. She shuddered and tried to ignore the thrill of sparking lust that Tom Riddle could always invoke with one appraising smirk. He stood up and walked towards her, like he was going to embrace her and then twisted to her side at the last second, letting one hand stray across her lower abdomen as he brought his lips close to her ear and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper laced with desire:

"That is the idea."

"Head up. Now, you have to feel it. You have to mean it." Maeve tipped her head back and threw her wand arm out in a violent movement.

"Crucio! Crucio? CRUCIO!" She shouted for the fiftieth time in a row as Malcolm shook his head and pushed her wand arm down, pointing his wand at the rabbit in the cage in front of them and barely murmuring the spell. The creature fell about in it's cage making a horrible squealy shrieky noise and Maeve winced and turned away from it.

"Come on, Sinclaire. It's just a dumb animal." Grendel Mulciber rumbled, kicking the cage so that the rabbit writhed about in both fright and agony. She shot him a resentful look and tried to avoid looking at Malcolm, she knew the cold gray glare would do nothing to instill in her the courage she needed to torture the damn rabbit.

"Not unlike you then, is it?" Vance cackled as he dodged one of Mulciber's massive fists, dashing to hide behind Adonis.

"Vance, be quiet!" Maeve snapped angrily, making a swatting motion at him. Now that she wasn't intimidated by the Death Eaters she could identify a certain kind of loathing for some of them. Avery in particular. He was a nattering lunatic, whose only useful quality was obedience and a presence so erratic it drove off most sane people.

She looked back at the rabbit and felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Maeve…" Rafe set a hand on her shoulder. "I know it makes you sick, but just trust me. You have to learn this, what if someone were to threaten Tom-"

"Alright. All of you, move out of the way…" Maeve brushed by him and readied herself, turning her wand on the rabbit and trying to focus hatred; maybe even her hatred for Vance on the tiny creature. "_Crucio_!"

The rabbit twitched and fell over, shrieking little mammilian screams. Maeve held it for five full seconds and then her wand arm snapped back at the elbow and the creature twitched convulsively before going completely limp. Malcolm turned up his nose, clearly this had not been enough to satisfy his lust for agony and she was going to have to try again. Before he could comment, however, she cast again.

"_Exintralia plaudata._" One moment, there was a rabbit. The next, it's intestines were swinging from the bars of the cage. The rabbit's insides were draped artfully over it's skeleton, it's eye balls creamy white marbles with red roots, turned backwards in the socket. Muscle and sinew were drizzled with shiny organs hanging all in the places they should but strangely misshapen quality. The air smelled of raw meat and the blood that ran from the exploded mass in the center of the rabbits chest. Maeve's wand arm fell to her side and she turned in time to see Malcolm stumble backwards across the marble and collapse to the floor, looking ill.

"You…it…exploded?" Grendel seemed unable to reconcile the reality of what had happened with the witch who had performed it.

"An entrail-expelling charm with a twist. That charm is used in magical surgeries, it's not meant to be performed on someone unless they've been given a serious pain potion before hand. If I hadn't added the extra twist, it probably would have survived." She murmured, polishing her gore spattered wand with a conjured cloth. Malcolm made a terrible choking sound and his stomach contents splattered over the floor, adding a sour tinge to the sweet, warm scent of intestines.

"Who taught you that?" Vance was sitting cross legged on the floor beside the cage of shredded flesh, rapt at attention.

"My father, he used it on a house-elf once. But without the killing piece. I could teach it to you, Malcolm." She knelt beside him where he trembled on the ground and he looked up at her, smiling through the revulsion.

"That will not be necessary…my Lady." Maeve's hand was cold and firm as she pulled him to his feet.

"I think you should imperio her to river dance." Adonis laughed uproariously, one lean arm thrown around Aspelenie Prewett's shoulders. The fox-faced Slytherin girl grinned conspiratorially at Maeve, happy to be included in the crew. They were on the period break after lunch, taking up the entire hallway on their way to the dungeons. Malcolm pursed his lips in annoyance as Avery cackled raucously beside his left ear and gave Maeve a serious look.

"A crucio would be more prudent, and I'm sure Tom would approve most highly of such a choice-"

"Blackmail your way out of the proper fight, but let her lose to you to save face." Abraxas tried, excited about the coming fight.

"Ahem." The group turned as one and Maeve slammed into Rafe as he stopped like a hound on point.

"Tom." Came the chorus of surprise. Tom was lurking on a window seat, his smile delightfully sinful as he spotted Maeve.

"Sinclaire. The rest of you are dismissed." The other's left without comment and Maeve stood there, not sure what to say.

"Come, sit with me, Maeve. You've been spending far too much time training with the amateur's." Tom beckoned her to sit on the windowsill beside him. She carefully perched on the edge of the cold stone sill and he raised an eyebrow at her and beckoned once more. Sighing and yet unable to hide her smile, she scooted over and curled up against his chest. He placed one possessive arm around her waist and nodded out the window.

"Better?" She asked, a bit smugly.

"Much. Now pay attention, my young acolyte." He rubbed his lips against her hair, more of a caress then a kiss before once again jerking his head in the direction of the window. "One of the most important lessons in life is this: Everyone has a weakness, everyone has a price. You job is to find and exploit it. Now, if you've been paying attention to Malcolm or Abraxas, you can tell me about the students in the courtyard."

She was able to list for him every name, every quirk and at least one thinly veiled desire about each. Deirdre Diggory had a fondness for Odin Macmillan, carefully hidden of course because they were actually first cousins. Helen Jameson was a mud blood who nursed a secret love for all things pureblood and was dating Albert Prewett, who had a drinking problem. Leopold Turpin was top of the class in history of magic and consequently had figured out a way to market his intelligence by writing everyone else's papers for them. Wilberforce Potter and Celestine Cardew spent their spare nights out on the Quidditch pitch doing Merlin knows what in addition to their typical extra-curricular Quidditch.

"Hmm, all interesting conjectures. But do you know what Rafe's biggest secret is? His greatest weakness?" Tom let his fingertips graze along the inside of her thigh and she shuddered, her eyelids fluttering as she sucked in a gasp. Tom showed careful restraint around her when it came to provocative gestures, but it was alarming how little it took for him, with one touch, to distract her completely.

"He loves Caoinin-" She murmured distractedly."No, that is just the product of Rafe's personality. What is his weakness with anyone, no matter the how he feels towards them?"

Maeve glared at the floor for a moment, locked in a furious inner battle as she weighed the facts. After a moment, her breath escaped in a huff. Her body relaxed by tiny increments and she cast him the dirty look of the defeated Ravenclaw. Tom chuckled and pecked her smartly on the lips before she could admit her ignorance.

"His passion, Maeve, it is his passion. A little passion is a lovely thing…too much can ruin the mind. Make it soft and oh so-" He traced a spiral across the inside of her thigh with the tip of his index finger and she shivered. "-easy to persuade."

"Tom-" Her eyelids fluttered and there was a delicious tension that he could feel coiled in her muscles. Tom bent his head so he could touch his lips to her neck and nip. She gasped and jerked in his arms at the slight pain of his teeth as they grazed across her skin. Expertly, he loosened he tie with one hand and brushed his lips down the slope of her neck and to her collar bone.

"Ahem." Tom's head snapped up as Maeve's jumped from his lap, smoothing her skirt and smiling sheepishly at a rather scandalized looking DADA professor.

"Professor Merrythought!" Maeve gasped breathlessly, dipping in something like a half-curtsy. "How are you? Did you…er…get a chance to grade my patronus essay yet?"

"Yes, Sinclaire, I did. Brilliant work. However, the reflection piece on why your patronus changed so quickly seems to lack sufficient depth. In light of that, I may have subtracted points…" Professor Merrythought raised one bushy eyebrow at Tom as she walked past. "Good day to you, Sinclaire. And to you, Riddle."

"Good day." Tom replied quietly, inclining his head in an almost servile manner. Only Maeve could have spotted the barely repressed fury that glinted in his silver gray eyes like the flash of a dagger. There was a moment as the pair waited for the sounds of the old professors footsteps to fade before Tom turned to look at her, his expression distant and hard to read.

"Your patronus has changed? That's rather rare, isn't it?" Tom twirled his wand between his fingers, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum as he waited for Maeve to speak.

"Oh, yes. It's nothing really, I hardly remember what it was before…" The smile she beamed at him was one hundred percent false.

"Well, I've always thought that spell to be rubbish, in any case. But it makes me think…you still haven't been marked. It will be interesting to see what yours will look like, don't you think?" He held her slender, pale wrist in his hand, felt her pulse drum against his fingertips.

"Yes, it will." She murmured, inclining her head slightly in agreement. "I…er…I need to go up to the owlry."

"Don't forget…the duel with Caoinin. Tonight, in the room of requirement." Maeve smiled at him, the barest trace of fear in her expression. "You have my every confidence, dearest."

"Thank you, my Lord." She murmured demurely, stepped forward and gave him a kiss that was just as much a reverent gesture as it was an affectionate one. Tom turned to the window as she left, the golden light from the window lighting every plane of his perfect, pale face.

"One thing before you go, Maeve."

"Yes?" She paused, her sheet of blonde hair glimmering in the half-light. Her expression would have been hidden from Riddle, if he'd cared to look. But he was instead gazing out the window, his pupils contracted as they gazed into the dazzling brightness of the sunny courtyard, the fringe of his dark lashes casting feathery shadows.

"What form does your patronus take?"

"A serpent." Spoken carefully, in a voice that was empty of any incriminating emotion. Her footsteps echoed across the stone as she fled the corridor, opened and shut the heavy oak door at the end of it.

"That's what I thought." Tom Riddle said to an empty corridor, his figure silhouetted in the window.

"The trial that every Knight must complete, the first duel. A duel against their enemy. Maeve Sinclaire, do you accept this challenge?"

"I do."

"Caoinin O'Brien, you understand the price of your failure?"

"I do. Now stand aside and let us duel, Malcolm."

"My Lord?"

"I accept the challenger. When I say, they may begin. Take your positions."

The two witches walked to either end of the dueling circle, their backs ramrod straight. Caoinin lifted her arms and allowed Lupus to strap the heavy, dragonhide armor to her body. Maeve felt a droplet of sweat tickle down her spine, tried not to shudder as Tom lifted her hair out of the way so he could kiss the nape of her neck. One long fingered hand skimmed across the curve of her hip bone and gripped, pulling her back against his body so he could whisper in her ear: "You are powerful. Remember that and you shall succeed."

He whirled her around and released her, practically flinging her into the circle so that she nearly stumbled. Caoinin turned at the same moment and her smile was quirked in an undeniably malevolent smirk. Maeve shut her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. _You are powerful. _Was it not what every pureblood was taught from their birth? She was a witch, she could bend and shape reality with just a touch of her will. Dueling was a mere paltry concern. She would reach for that power within her and she would strike at Caoinin with all her soul.

"You may begin."

"_Crucio!_" Maeve leapt sideways with a cry, easily dodging the curse but astonished that she would cast it. Caoinin cackled with delight, her cat-like eyes narrowed to slits of malicious pleasure. She beckoned with a jerk of her head, holding her wand back over her shoulder like it was a spear. Maeve glared and bent her knees like she was going to run at Cao, but the other girl forced her to dodge yet again.

"So, My Lord, still betting on the bird?"

"_Morsus Spiculum!_" The stinging hex shot out of Maeve's wand in a burst of blue and nailed Caoinin in the small of her back.

"AAAOW!" She cried out and stumbled to her knees. She clawed at her back with crimson painted nails, flipping on her side and hissing with pain. Maeve misinterpreted the movement for a surrender and approached her, just as Caoinin lunged, not with her wand but with her hands hooked like talons at Maeve's face. With a cry, Maeve jerked back but was not quick enough. Three jagged, bloody furrows were torn down the length of her cheek. She pulled her fingers from her cheek and found them shiny with blood.

"Get back, you bitch! _IMPERIO!_" The spell hit Maeve in the chest and she gasped like the wind had been knocked out of her, stumbling back a step. Rafe let out an almost silent moan of disappointment as Caoinin rose to her feet, looking triumphant. She brushed her wild curls back from her face and held her wand steady, blue eyes afire with smug calm.

"Good girl, bring me the wine glass, would you?" Maeve walked stiffly to the table where the glass were stacked, picking up a full one and bringing it to her tormentor. Her eyes were as blank as a zombies, emotionless and dead. Caoinin took it from her hand and downed the red liquid, smacking her lips. With a sudden movement, she flung the glass down and it shattered at her booted feet. "Now, cut yourself, little viper. Cut yourself deeply."

The death eaters started to murmur, Adonis handed Malcolm a galleon and most of those who had been fortunate looked on in abject horror. Maeve went to her knees and reached for the longest, most wicked looking shard of glass. Surely, Tom would not sit by and watch this happen? Surely he would stop it! But Lord Voldemort made no move to stop the duel, stock still and impassive. The only indication of distress was the tension in his frame, the way the column of his throat jerked as the glass glinted in the candle light as Maeve's hand guided it to her left wrist-Caoinin looked up with triumph, her red lips open as the chuckle began in her throat-

She struck so quickly, their eyes could hardly follow it. Maeve was suddenly standing, almost embracing Caoinin. No, she was supporting her. Maeve's eyes were still blank, but there was life in them now. A detached, quiet kind of life as Caoinin made a soft gasping sound and grasped at Maeve's shoulders. Maeve stepped back and gave her opponent a gentle shove. And as Cao fell to her knees, she let out a cry of hysterical pain and pooled on the floor, dripping crimson from where Maeve had wedged the shard up into her shoulder. There was still a broken shard in her hand, dark venous blood oozing around it from where the stress of gripping it had cut into her palm.

"_Pestilentia adflictatus._" The spell was not screamed or even shouted, just spoken. There was something horrible about the way she cast it, something chilling in the fact that she had no vengeance in her voice as black boils rose on the other girls face and neck and as she let out a moan of pain as they burst under her heavy armor and constraining clothes. Caoinin rolled on her back, tried to grasp for her wand that lay not but a few feet from her. Maeve stood on her wrist.

"There are manners in dueling that your clearly unaware of. I don't like to be called names, Caoinin. I don't like to be plotted against, or made to look foolish. Secondly, I really don't like to have my hand forced. Cruelty is not like me, I would prefer very much to be as benevolent a lady as possible. Now, I'm going to lift my foot and your going to take up your wand and surrender. The glass has touched nothing vital, but I expect it to shatter if you exert yourself. The spell is no hex, it's a curse. The effects will worsen until it is lifted, if you surrender you have my word that I will undo it. I'm going to let you up now."

Maeve lifted her foot and leapt back just in time to avoid the shards Caoinin had enchanted to try and stab her. They shattered against the barrier to the dueling ring, inches from Lupus's face. Caoinin pushed herself to her feet and lifted her wand, her cold beauty marred by blistering, bleeding sores that made her look terrifying. Maeve braced herself and held her wand out, looking grim. "O'Brien, let it go."

"Never. Not until you beat me fair and square. None of this muggle fighting. Beat me with magic." Caoinin spit out a globule of blood, her wand arm shaking badly. Maeve flung a jet of purple light at her and she dodged, gasping with the pain in her shoulder and the feeling of sticky pus oozing from the boils across her neck.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Cao blocked the spell carelessly and lunged at Maeve with her teeth bared, casting spell after spell. Maeve dodged nimbly, twisting between the flashes of light and blocking until her lips curled into a snarl of concentration. She whipped her wand back over her shoulder in a flash of gold hair and sent Caoinin into an upward spin and then slammed her back down on the marble. She flopped to the ground but the armor took most of the impact and she rolled to her knees and cast, the spell lighting up her face in a brilliant orange burst as she screamed it.

"_Inflamare_!" Maeve's wand consumed the dragonesque pillar of flame and expelled it in a violent burst.

"_REDUCTO_!"

"_Serpen sortia!"_ The snake reared back and struck at Maeve's ankles and she gasped, stumbling backwards and then pointing her wand at the conjured serpent and sending a jet of orange light at it. There was a loud bang and a falcon leapt into the air, wheeled and flew at Caoinin's face. She screamed and threw herself to the floor, but she was not quick enough; talons dug into her cheek and slashed across her ear. The scream tore her now fragile throat lining and she felt the skin slough off the recently created wound.

"Give up." Maeve panted, clutching her side where Cao had nailed her with a slashing spell.

"NO!" Maeve jerked back just in time to miss a spell that shot through the air in a heat haze, hitting the conjured falcon instead. The bird exploded with a puff of feathers that temporarily blinded her as Coinin rolled and unsteadily regained her feet. The stone was starting to blacken and crackled beneath the soles of Cao's boots, tiny sparks leaping up as she paced like a tiger in a cage, every spell she cast being caught and thrown back at her. Maeve glared at her with her lips curled into an uncharacteristic snarl. Suddenly, she began to attack back, with more force than ever.

"_EVISCERA!_" The jagged red light arced across the space between them and missed Caoinin by inches. She laughed and advanced, casting curse after curse as Maeve twisted and dodged.

"_Crucio_! Come on, you slimy, slippery little bitch. No more dance steps, stay put and fight me! Mother's always said that her sister could never hope to compare to her dueling skills-" A jet of blue light skived across Caoinin's shoulder plate and it tightened unbearably and she fell to her knees with a scream.

"Stop! O'Brien, Sinclaire. That is enough!" Tom called, suddenly rising to his feet as the mood in the room shifted. Neither paid him any heed and the others could barely hear him over the sounds of the two witches duel. Caoinin landed a blow that laid open Maeve's thigh like a massive claw had been dragged across it. Maeve hissed and barely managed to stumble out of the way of the next curse. Despite the blood and the pain, there was something else to this. There was something about pitting herself against an opponent, about fighting for Tom. _Exhilaration. Power. _She was no longer merely listening to Tom, she was powerful in her own right. Her own soul thrummed with the fury of it, with the fact that power was neither good nor evil but that it was an essence to be channeled. Something that she could shape and twist and direct with the movements of her body, the sound of her voice. This was what being a witch meant! Caoinin was turning towards her, the slice from the falcon's talon across her right eye making her look positively demonic in her hatred as she opened her mouth to cast a spell.

Maeve reached down with a hand swathed in blood and just snatched up her wand in time, turning it on Caoinin just in time to fire the spell right back at her. A long, winding black whip wrapped around Caoinin's neck and Maeve twisted into the length of it, dragging her opponent across the platform and with a violent jerk of her wand, ripping the whip from around her neck and sending her spinning. Caoinin fell with a final shriek of pain, pus and blood spilling down her face as she clawed at her throat, gasping for breath.

"Surrender or die of the bloody curse, O'Brien." Maeve stepped back as Caoinin heaved up her stomach's contents on the dias at Maeve's feet.

"Get rid of it then, Sinclaire." She croaked, wiping her lips. "You're killing me."

"Surrender." Maeve's body trembled with the effort it took for her to remain standing, the steady drip of blood as it slithered off her armor. Caoinin rolled on her back, her breathing labored as she cried out in pain and defeat.

"Fine! I give up, you can have him! Just help me-" Caoinin coughed hard and let out an agonized cry.

"_Sanare medensia._" Maeve murmured, then shuddered once and collapsed into Adonis, her face white from blood loss. Caoinin sobbed for breath, weeping as the boils receded from her skin and she crawled on her belly to the edge of the dias.

"Caoinin O'Brien, you have lost the trial. Swear your fealty to the victor." Malcolm spoke, a wan sort of smugness to his voice. Tom's smile was unshakable, however. In it's cruelty, in it's malice and in it's pride; nothing changed. Caoinin jerked the shard of glass from her shoulder and spat out a glob of bloody sputum.

"I will not. From this moment forth, I wish nothing more to do with your order of lunatics. I will not reveal you, but you cannot make me join you."

"If we wanted to, I'm sure we could. But I will grant you that one freedom, O'Brien." Tom turned his back on her, reaching out to help Maeve to her feet. And that's when Caoinin lifted her wand and aimed it at his back.

"_Crucio_!" Maeve shrieked, firing the curse just under his elbow. Tom staggered backwards in shock as the spell struck Caoinin with enough force to send her flying backwards.

Caoinin screamed like she was being ripped in half, twisting and writhing around on the floor until her back arched off the blackened marble and the shrieks rose from her throat were ear piercing. Maeve, still in a kneeling position and leaking blood all over the marble from one trembling thigh, rose unsteadily to her feet. She could picture it, she could feel herself meaning it. No one-_absolutely no one_-would dream of even so much as touching Tom. Especially not this evil, embittered creature writhing on the platform like a maggot under her curse. She pictured thumbscrews, a whip slicing to the bone, a knife skinning her…if that's what it took to make her see.

"No,nonononononononoooooooooo! Oh please, please, no! I'm sorry! STOP HURTING ME, PLEASE!" Caoinin screamed pathetically, wriggled and twisted and arched her back. Maeve lifted her gaze to meet Rafe's across the circle, seeing the agony there as well. That double-edged agony that both compelled and repulsed him, that he felt love for the hateful thing she was torturing and that it was his weakness.

"I don't hear you begging, Caoinin." Maeve twisted her wrist and Caoinin's shriek sharpened in intensity and volume, her expression warped with pain. Rafe's gaze fell and he covered his eyes, turning from the scene in horror. Even Malcolm was trembling as he watched, his eyelids fluttering closed in a brief wince. Tears were streaming down Abraxas's face and Adonis was wretching, his handsome face twisted in disgust as sweat soaked strands of his longish red hair fell in his terrified eyes. The screaming stopped suddenly and Maeve turned once more to her quarry, now unconscious from pain. Another sound cut into the silence with startling clarity: Tom was laughing, grasping her around the shoulders and kissing her forehead.

"Marvelous! Well done, my love!" He chuckled, his handsome features looking almost demented with wild, cruel joy.

Caoinin awoke crying, crawled off the platform on her hand and knees and collapsed at Gloria Dolohov's feet. The look of loathing Gloria shot Maeve over the top of Cao's head was practically poisonous. Maeve felt…sullied. As though the unforgivable curse had not only left a mark on her, but changed something. Perhaps it was still the feeling of protectiveness she felt for Tom…but no, this emotion was so much darker. She felt her lips curl into a cynical smile over Tom's shoulder, her eyes promising vengeance, promising pain to Gloria if she dared speak in defiance. As an after thought, she glanced at Blaene and then returned her gaze to Gloria. The unspoken threat. The other girl dropped her gaze to her trembling patient. Such was the power of corruption.

"Ah!" Maeve gasped in pain as Tom bumped into her injured leg, grasping at it and staggering. Tom seemed not to notice, grabbing her right hand and hefting it upwards in a symbol of triumph. She winced with pain.

"The Lady of Walpurgis! Do any dispute her right?" Malcolm called out, his voice cold but bright with pride. No one stood forth, the only sound was a shriek as Gloria extracted the last of the shards of glass from Caoinin's shoulder and flung it away from her in disgust.

"Gloria…the goblet." Tom called, nearly out of breath in his exhilaration. Maeve stood back from him, holding her injured leg off the ground and wincing. Yaxley stood up from where he'd knelt at Coinin's side, holding a large crystal goblet. Gently, he handed it to Tom and then stepped back to stand a few respectful paces behind him.

"I give you the blood of your enemy, Maeve Sinclaire." Tom held out the goblet to her, a wicked smile on his face. He dipped to fingers into the vessel and carefully painted a symbol of eternity on her forehead.

"Drink, my lady." Tom's smile was full of pride as she took a sip of the dark red liquid. The first sip was unpleasantly salty and metallic, but there was something unidentifiably attractive to the taste. She took another sip and her misgivings about the beverage disappeared, blood was merely an acquired taste.

The wind whipped around the grove of birches on the cliff, thirteen black cloaked figures robes flapping in the wind as they wound their way up the steep path. The lake glittered silver with moonlight and every star burned in the velvety blue night like a tiny jewel in the heavens behind them and above them. If any of the Knight's had had the presence of mind to look back at the glorious sight, they would have seen the me people gamboling about at it's centre, instead of merely heard the unearthly voices, the delicate notes played on fishbone flutes. At the top of the hill, the robed figures took their places around a large bonfire, the air thick with the sweet scent of melting snow mingled with the harsh aroma of smoke and burning pine.

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood before them, at the edge of the cliff, his hood thrown back so that he glared at them all with all the power and ferocity of a cobra with it's hood spread wide. To his left was a view of Hogwarts, to his right the boundless hills and mountains that were the world that they would conquer. And then, he spoke with a voice every bit as chilling and commanding as the gale itself:

"What does it mean to be a Knight of Walpurgis? It means pride, pride in the purity of our ancestors. Pride in the beauty of our forms, the power of our magic, the majesty of our world. We, who came before muggle kind, we who challenged their rule. We who did not wish to fall into ruin, we who would not be hunted! To become a knight of Walpurgis means to join the cause our ancestors fought for, that the purity of the blood is the purity of power. We believe in this untainted power and the strength that it grants us." Tom had never seemed more beautiful to Maeve then when he spoke those words, cold and remote and handsome; his striking features carved from marble. His cold gray eyes seemed colourless in the stark light of the full, yellow-bellied moon. He was impassioned by his speech, he believed it and he would make them believe it. Already, she could feel her heart pounding with the truth of the words he spoke. She could feel the power coursing through her being-

"You are an order bound in blood, you are a family held together by loyalty. Look around you, my friends. Those in this circle, they are your brothers-and your sister. Trust them above all others and they will fight for you, fight with you. For there will be those who will oppose us, there will be those weak and of inferior blood status, but protecting them will be the strong whose minds have been warped; who have become traitorous to their own blood. You shall fight weak and strong alike, and you shall not be defeated. You shall fight with your dying breath for your fellows, for a truth and a power that can be revived by the Knight's alone! Let your hearts beat as one, turn your eyes to me and swear your oath to me, to each other!" As one, they went to their knees. Maeve had lost feeling in her right hand, for Rafe was gripping it as though it were his last anchor to earth. Sweat dripped off his brow and his fervent, honey colored eyes were gazing at Lord Voldemort with a singular kind of devotion. Tom's long-fingered hand touched Rafe's brow with his fingertips.

"…Rafe Lestrange, do you swear to give your Lord your undying loyalty? The same to your fellow Knights? To your Lady?" Maeve blinked in surprise, thrown by this distinction.

"To Lord, Lady and Knights do I swear. Their lives ever before my own, the cause ever before my life." Rafe kissed his Lord's knuckles, the passionate conviction of his expression breathtaking.

"So it shall be. Rise, Rafe Aldaric Lestrange, rise a Knight of Walpurgis!"

"And finally, Maeve Aldebaran Sinclaire. Do you swear to me your undying loyalty? Do you promise to protect and fight for your Knights? To uphold their beliefs?" Tom's grey eyes held something unfathomable in their depths, something like desire, something like lust, something like power. His fingertips tipped her chin upwards ever so gently and his thumb brushed across her bottom lip as she spoke.

"To you, my Lord, do I swear. To the Knight's do I swear to provide succour and guidance, the cause ever before my own wishes." Her voice thrummed with resonance, with her heartbeat.

"So it shall be. Rise, Maeve Aldebaran Sinclaire, rise as the consort to Lord Voldemort and the Lady of the Walpurgis Knights…rise my Lady Lamia." Maeve rose to her feet, acutely aware of the soft, liquid fabric of the black dress against her bare skin. She took his hand, his cold, white hand, and pressed his knuckles to her lips.

His grey eyes were mesmerizing, all-encompassing. She could forget time, forget space…forget anything and everything except this. _Consort, from the Latin consortia, meaning to share the same fate. _Her loyalty, it was more than some loyalty to a pureblood cause. It was loyalty to him, to Tom. It was terrifying to realize that she had given something, some part of herself to him so completely she could never retract it. Some part of her would always be his. Would be their's. She reached for him, let her fingers glide across the cool skin of his neck and pulled herself close to him.

Her body felt sinuous, full and womanly and muscular like a serpents as his hands slid across the thin fabric cinched at her waist, pressing her against him. She tipped her head upwards and met his lips with her own, feeling like she could taste the power he spoke of on his tongue. He cupped the back of her neck and crushed her to him and it was all she could do to catch her breath as he drew her backwards across the circle, stepped into the flames at it's center and drew her in as well. The fire felt warm against her skin, and dragon tongues of it turned blue and green and caressed her body. Finally, he released her and she would have fallen to her knees had he not kept one arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

She felt like she could hardly keep her feet on the ground, she felt the continuous surge of coursing magic that she'd only ever felt in one small burst as she cast a particularly strong spell. It felt like it was everywhere, inside her blood, in the air she breathed, in her very soul…and for an irrational moment, Maeve, felt sorry for muggles, felt sorry that they could never feel what it was like to have the power of all earthly things flow through their essence. She laughed as the wind whipped around the grove of trees, a bird cried somewhere in the dark and wolves howled at the moon in a vengeful sky wounded with stars. There was something light and beautiful about this magic, something dangerous and blackened. It was duality, a strange kind of completeness Tom had not been able to achieve on his own…a magic that needed her. _Some most archaic magic's, the most powerful ones can only be called into being by the union of witch and wizard's combined energy._

"Who are we?" She half screamed, half gasped as she steadied herself on Tom's shoulders, glaring out at the surrounding Death Eaters. The held their wands so that they bisected their faces like swords before raising them in salute.

"WE ARE THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS! WE ARE PURE OF BLOOD AND LOYAL OF HEART! EVER SHALL WE DEFEND OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS, EVER SHALL WE RULE!" Maeve raised her wand and pointed it at the sky in unison with the twelve that surrounded them, a burst of golden light from every wandtip that met in a shower of sparks that fell around them like a cascade of golden rain, illuminating Tom's proud, exhilarated smile. "WE ARE THE THIRTEEN!"


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note:

*Flinches as heavy objects-like broken alarm clocks-are thrown at her head* Sorry, sorry, sorry! I know, it's appalling, I had a ton of weeks and a whole vacation to write/edit for you and I was lazy(Sort of, I had school work/other fics and may have…er…been distracted by Hunger Games SYOTs. Oh, the shame.)! But bloody hell, I have SEVENTY-TWO reviews! That's incredible! I cannot tell you how happy all of your comments make me, and all of your favs/story alerts! It's really, really great! And makes me so happy…I've been a little depressed lately and it's really so great that I've got so much support. So here's the next chapter, in which Tom gets a mega-ton more love than usual. Some of it's a little fluffy, but I figured you guys needed a break from the torture scenes for a while, eh? Short. May edit later(there was supposed to be a drunken death eaters prelude but school and other writings caught up to me!)!

"_She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good is often an occasion more than a condition." ~_**Gilbert Parker**

"How very strange…don't you think, Horace?"

"Eh?" Horace Slughorn looked up from the piece of crystallized pineapple he'd been sneaking from a pouch at his hip, popping it into his mouth sideways and turning to Ophelia Atlanata, Head of Ravenclaw House. The tall, birdlike woman looked down her long nose at him, patiently waiting for a more coherent answer.

"That your most popular students have forged such a lasting bond with two of my most unpopular." Ophelia continued, gesturing with a nod of her head towards the Slytherin house table. Oh, that.

"Yes, I think Ms. Sinclaire is quite good for Riddle. They make quite a pair, don't you think? In fact, Sinclaire seems to be moving up in the world since they-" Slughorn continued proudly, watching Riddle from afar like a doting parent.

"I _do _think it's very strange myself, Ophelia. Did you know, at the beginning of this year, I had my sixth years work on patronus's? None of them, except for Sinclaire, could produce a full-bodied patronus." Galatea Merrythought, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher muttered, shaking her head.

"Well, good, she's talented then! I would think that two women of your position would see this as a sparkling opportunity for young Maeve, think of what their children would be capable of-"

"HORACE!" Ophelia and Galatea snapped in unison, looking appalled.

"Do not be so…you! They are _children_!"  
"Well, not now! I only meant to infer that they _could _have very talented-"

"Yes, with you the doting foster grandparent? For goodness sake," Galatea snorted gruffly, rolling her eyes. "Hush, Horace, and listen to reason: The girl's patronus-"

"I don't see anything wrong with the girl being able to produce a patronus! Or what it has to do with Riddle, mind you. Everyone in your professional position, pardon me for saying, seems to be rather paranoid if you ask me-"

"As for what it has to do with your prodigy, Horace, the answer is very little. Except to point out the fact that it's the one spell he's never been able to perform." Galatea snapped testily, ignoring Slughorn's abruptly chastised look. Ophelia perked up, her dark eyebrows arching high of her glasses.

"Really? Young Tom cant produce a patronus?"

"He's never been able to, not even a wispy shield. That's what most Slytherins produce-" Merrythought gave Slughorn a vengeful look and he opened his mouth to defend his house but Ophelia interrupted.

"What form does Maeve's patronus take, Galatea?"

"Well, that's just the thing. At the beginning of the year, it was a little peregrine falcon. A few days ago, I had her cast one for my fourth years. It was a full-bodied patronus alright, one of the best I've ever set eyes on. But it's…changed considerably." Galatea looked suddenly uneasy, picking at her food.

"Whatever did it change to, woman? Go on, spit it out as long as it's not another bloody conspira-"

"Maeve Sinclaire's patronus has changed to a serpent." She thumped down her goblet and sat back, glowering at the table's surface.

"Well, surely, that cant mean anything! That girls entire family has been in Slytherin, after all. She's been brought up with Slytherin's her entire life, you know that!"

"Yes, but why would her patronus change now?" Galatea shot back, glaring furiously at the table. Ophelia mmm-ed noncommittally rearranging her silverware with a look of focused concentration.

"Well, maybe that does mean something." Slughorn stared at the table, contrition in his chubby features.

"We all know what it means, Horace. Just look at them-it's terrifying!" Galatea gesticulated to the Slytherin table. Tom and Maeve sat beside one another, surrounded on all sides by Tom's loyal and gifted group of friends.

"There's nothing wrong with young love." Slughorn thumped his goblet down onto the table and glared at them fiercely. Galatea shook her head and made an impatient batting gesture.

"You don't understand-"

"Galatea, he's sitting with his _friends_-look at how happy they are!" The group was laughing at something and Tom was beaming at them with manic pride, Maeve taking a sip out of her goblet and smiling sweetly as she toasted something her counterpart had said. "With the first years, even! What could be more innocent than that?"

Maeve hid her smile in her pumpkin juice as Grendel and Kayne quarreled playfully about what they'd rather kiss: a muggle or the giant squid. They were all in phenomenally high spirits, Rafe had even consented to allow Hattie to sit beside him with a surprising amount of grace. Arturus Black, one of Lupus's multitude of siblings, was snuggled against Maeve's side, a bit of treacle at the corner of his childish mouth.

"No, no. Like this: _Morsa_!" Rosier was busy teaching the twelve year-old Argos Macnair a stinging hex. He flicked his wand in the direction of Minnie McGongall as she marched over to the Gryffindor table. She slapped at her arm as the stinging hex nailed her, looking around for it's source before she continued on. "Now you try-" There was a sharp snapping sound and Minnie let out a shriek and fell over backwards, clutching her bottom. The Great Hall roared with laughter and Adonis ruffled the hair of his young protégé, beaming. "Nicely done."

The atmosphere in the days before graduation was almost peaceful. Everyone had relaxed into their roles, Tom held no more 'official' meetings. For their last few weeks of school, everyone was content to be exactly what they appeared to be: Students doing student-like things, young adults basking in the sunlight. The plans to scrub the scourge of muggle kind of the face of the earth were put on hold and life was a thing to be enjoyed.

* * *

"It's beautiful." Maeve murmured, letting her fingers trail across the wing feathers of the wyvern longingly.

"Yes, it is. I'm going to miss…Hogwarts." He hesitated like their was something he wanted to add and then shook his head and continued. "After seven years, it feels like home."

"Mhmm." Maeve sighed and glanced out through the clear panes of glass at the glorious view of mountains and lake.

_Home. Hogwarts will always be my home. _Some of Maeve's happiest memories had taken place at this school. She felt as though she could wander the castle and grounds with Tom forevermore and never want for anything else. She sat on the window's marble sill and looked up at Riddle where he leaned against a column, looking out across the lake, the most beautiful smile on his handsome face. He glanced over at her and it widened.

"What?" His silver eyes seemed to glitter with a sort of carefree mischief that was so rare for him.

"I love-" you. She only just stopped herself from saying the unutterable. "-this view."

He laughed at her. Tossed back his head and bared his white throat and laughed. The sound startled her with it's sincerity. It wasn't a cruel laugh, or a mocking one. The laugh was pure, sunlit joy. Not the high, mocking chill that he normally laughed. He sank onto the sill beside her and beckoned. Maeve raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously, easing herself into his out-stretched arms. As soon as she was within range he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest, ignoring her shriek.

"Tom!"

"How would you like to live here someday?" Tom chuckled huskily, the words a conspiratorial whisper that made Maeve shudder with delight.

"Live here? As a teacher?" _With you? I would love that more than anything else in the world. _She wanted to say, but knew that she couldn't. Acting too eager for anything always irritated Tom, even when he was in such a sterling mood.

"As a teacher, as a headmistress, a Queen…" He trailed off, nuzzling her throat.

"A teacher, maybe. Headmistress, doubtful. Queens we don't have anymore." She leaned into his embrace, feeling comforted and at the same time thrilled by his closeness. She lay her head against his shoulder and looked back into his strikingly handsome face.

"But we could always reinstate them, you and I. You could really be the Slytherin Queen. Or Slytherclaw, if that's what you prefer." The last bit was said with a touch of disapproval, Tom would never want his queen associating herself with a house that allowed mud bloods.

"Have I ever told you that in one of father's books, there's a lay of Rowena and Salazar?" She tempered the eagerness in her voice with a casual glance around the white stone corridor, waiting until Tom's full attention was on her. She could practically feel his curiosity pique.

"Salazar and Rowena disagreed on the issue of blood purity."

"Not at first, Rowena was just as pure as Salazar." Maeve replied, sliding her fingers up and down his arm where it wrapped around her waist. With her other hand, she traced the shapes in the colored glass, her face bathed in green light.

"Mmmh, how did it go? Did they live happily ever after?" He mocked, smirking out the wyvern window. Maeve's breath caught as her finger's touched a sharp edge of the black caulking and she withdrew her hand, a droplet of blood falling to the white marble sill.

"I honestly don't remember." She turned and kissed him lightly, her expression soft. After that, there was no more talk of such a delicate subject…but Tom resolved to find this lay and thoroughly examined it. Clever Ravenclaw's only brought up literature when they were trying to make a point. For now, Maeve had surrendered the effort, but better that he be prepared when next she brought it up.

"What will the others do…without you?"

"Without me? They will continue they're lives as they had planned until I call upon them, of course. Rosier, Nott and Selwyn all have internships lined up for them at the ministry. Avery will be taking over his father's apothecary after he graduates. Mulciber into Magical law enforcement and Abraxas into magical medicine next year. Yaxley and Rafe will begin their training as auror's in the coming year.."

"So they will all become spies, then? Do you not worry that they're loyalties will be tested by such training?"

"Which is exactly why I have always encouraged Avery to run an apothecary and nurtured and cultivated Rafe's sense of devotion. Once committed to an action, Lestrange cannot envision a future in which he does not see it through to it's completion. Besides, the ministry has done irreparable damage to his family. And you will be here to keep an eye on those who wont be graduating this year."

"I will?"

"Of course, and foster the first years, though I suppose you'll have to hand them over to Avery. Though they're not the ones who will be necessary. Just insurance…it's the next generation that I'm banking on. They will be essential to the order-" Tom expounded on his plans for a while and Maeve sat and listened until her eyelids started to droop. It wasn't that he wasn't interesting, but he was warm and soft and she was so very tired…

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his temples, feeling exhausted. He was relieved that the year was almost at an end, that Tom Marvolo Riddle was graduating. The unfortunate thing was that he had a sneaking suspicion that Tom was going on to greater, more terrible things. But maybe that was just paranoia, his age catching up to him. As he got older, he found that a sense of pessimism seemed to increase at an alarming rate. He walked briskly down the corridor, passing the beautiful windows and delicate architecture that marked Rowena's additions to Hogwarts Castle…There were voices coming from an alcove to his right and he paused.

Dumbledore did not like to think himself an eavesdropper, but this particular occasion seemed to call for a strong disillusionment charm. Softly, he tip-toed around the tiny curved wall that fluted out into a brilliantly lit, convex tower piece. Brilliant, golden sunset shone through the clear panes of the stained glass window while rainbow light spackled the floor where the dieing sunlight glittered through the design at the window's heart: A wyvern illuminating the alcove's two inhabitants. Dumbledore could barely conceal his shock.

Sitting beneath Ravenclaw's window was the most stunning pair he'd ever seen: Maeve's hair seemed to be but an extension of the sunlight, her slender arms wrapped around Riddle's body in an embrace sweeter and more innocent than any he'd ever witnessed. Her head lay against Tom's shoulder, her golden lashes flat against the curve of her cheekbones and her breathing deep. Tom was clutching her to him, one hand stroking her cheek where she lay against his chest. His eyes were shut and his lips pressed to her forehead in a way that wasn't quite a kiss, but something much more intimate. A joining of two perfectly different and yet complimentary elements. As he watched, Maeve's lips pulled into a beautiful, serene smile.

The image branded itself forever into Dumbledore's mind and left a violent ache behind. For just a moment, the horrible boy on the brink of becoming a horrible man had just a shred of innocence left in him. And he was sharing it with her, giving it to Maeve. Perhaps, even with all their dark intentions, there was just some redemption between the two of them. The thought that he might be wrong comforted him.

* * *

The good-byes were a wild affair, even slightly hung-over as a majority of them were. Farewells as they boarded the train the last time were exhausting and emotionally draining. To Maeve's surprise, Malcolm pulled her into a tight embrace that lasted the full extent of platonic length; contrary to what she'd expected. Rosier picked her up and spun her around in glee, his breath still smelling faintly of fire whiskey from the night before. Gloria's Dolohov's goodbye was cold, but Blaene Selwyn gave Maeve a tight squeeze on the shoulder to make up for it. Evangeline Macnair sobbed into her shoulder, declaring that she simply couldn't wait to see her next year and how she must visit when she got the opportunity. In a strange way, it was almost like having real friends…

"Maeve!" Rafe was one of the last, and he dragged Hattie with him. Maeve glanced at their clasped hands and looked at Tom in surprise. The young Lord Voldemort shrugged apathetically as he half listened to whatever Mulciber was muttering about. "Maeve! You'll lead us next year, am I right?"

"That's the plan. Are you two-" Hattie darted forward and threw her arm around Maeve's neck, dragging her into a sandwich like hug between the two of them.

"Lestrange, Lovegood. Your train is leaving." Tom murmured quietly, his expression unconcerned and pensive. Rafe released Maeve and hauled on Hattie's wrist. Hathor jumped on her tip-toes as Rafe dragged her past Tom and placed a quick, friendly kiss on his cheek. Tom stared ahead for a full moment, with the expression of someone who's just had something large and hairy scuttle across their face. Maeve pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up in her throat. Tom blinked and recovered enough of his faculties to glare at her.

"Well, are we apparating or not?" He grumbled, holding out an arm to her. Maeve sobered somewhat and grabbed her trunk.

* * *

Tom had expected to apparate at the very foot of the tremendous Sinclaire manor, instead of in the middle of what looked like it was going to be a very long and arduous trek up a dirt path. To be fair, it was actually a very pleasant and well groomed looking road, with a stone wall bordering it and large trees planted at regular intervals, their leafy canopies casting mottled shadows across the hard-packed sand. Still, pleasant sight did not negate the fact that he was in the middle of a road and not in the center of a grand ballroom or something of the like. He couldn't even see the apparently grand mansion

"What on earth is this? Where are we-"

"Oh honestly Tom, calm down. This is the driveway, my grandparents had it installed just to snap Mum and Dad's noses out of joint when they inherited. I thought we could walk the rest of the way, just to give you a bit of a tour. Besides, Mother'll have a fit if I don't give her time to get ready to see you; apparating here gives her some warning." Maeve's voice had a slightly nervous tinge to it and she looked as if the admittance pained her, shoving a few stray strands of blonde hair back from her face and starting at a brisk pace down the path.

"I do not enjoy walking." Tom gave a disdainful snort which Maeve stubbornly pretended not to hear. He looked around helplessly for some form of determent. "Ah, the trunks. I am not a pack horse-"

Maeve turned so quickly he thought for a moment she was going to strike him and took a swift step backwards. Instead, she calmly and intensely uttered one word: "Rue."

"Excuse me-AH!" An ugly little thing appeared at his right elbow and it took him a moment to realise that Maeve had summoned the house-elf. Despite it's general appearance of overall hideousness, it was wearing a table-cloth toga and seemed somehow cleaner than other house-elves he'd seen. Which didn't actually count for much, he'd only ever seen one fixing the cushions in the Slytherin common room for about five seconds before it had popped out of existence. It bowed low to him and spoke:

"Greetings, Master wizard, may I take your luggage?"

"I-_shoo_." Tom made a batting motion in the little elf's direction and glared at Maeve when she sighed and took his hand.

"Yes, he wants you to take the bags. He's just a little slow, that's all." She took the hand he'd been shooing with and tried to tolerate the electric indignation that was pouring off Tom in waves of ill-temper as she fairly dragged him down the driveway. The walk took less than five minutes, but even then, it was an inconvenience for Tom, who stormed along angrily in her wake, demanding the name of landmarks.

"You have a stable? What for?"

"Horses, of course. Tom, you really-"

"When was the mansion built?"

"Anyone's guess. It was moved here in the early 1400's-"

"Moved?"

"From Scotland-"

"Where are we now?"

"We're Unpolttable, but if you use muggle towns in the area we're on the crest of the hills that separate Great Hangleton from Little Hangleton-" Tom stopped dead and clawed for her arm. Already harassed and fed up with the game of twenty questions, nervous enough as she was about introducing him to her mother; she turned on her heel and prepared to shout at him, consequences be damned.

"Maeve! You're home!" A tiny, powder blue robed blur hit Maeve in the side and she staggered in the creamy gravel. Tom floundered for a moment, staring from the little boy who was now clinging to Maeve and beaming to the vast property before him, all the thoughts of Little Hangleton forgotten: The driveway beneath his feet had melted from hard packed dirt to pearlescent, creamy gravel that wound about in a great carriage circle around a marble statue of a witch who stood with her head and arms upraised like some kind of arcane temple goddess. She held a staff in one hand and a bird of prey perched in the glove on her left. The pedestal at her feet was planted with ivy and some sort of delicate winding plant with large, vivid blue thorns and diaphanous white blooms.

The castle like manse at his left was massive and glorious, built of enormous blocks of blue-gray stone, a tower at the foremost two corners. Like most wizarding architecture, it was built _up_ as well as out and sprawling; in a vaguely crescent moon shape that's convex curve kissed the gravel carriage circle in two massive, oak doors that were thrown open to reveal a little of the darkly lit interior. The mansion stood mostly apart from the woodland that surrounded it by at least three acre's in any direction.

Standing in the doorway was a comely looking older woman who was squinting at him in a way that made the self-assured expression she was normally accustomed to fixing on her fiercely attractive face waver. Looking at him like they knew each other, like she'd seen him before.

"Hello." Tom murmured, turning from where Maeve was ruffling the chick-yellow hair of her youngest sibling playfully and facing the woman. "You must be Mrs. Sinclaire."  
"Megaera Atropia Sinclaire. Yes, I am. And you must be-" Megaera seemed to struggle for a moment and then cough delicately to clear her throat. "-Tom? I believe, all of Maeve's mail just goes straight to Ambrose."

"A pleasure to meet you, Megaera." She nodded briskly and then turned away, beckoning them inside with one elegant and careless gesture. Maeve looked considerably less cheerful and pugnacious at the appearance of her mother.

"Come on, I'm sorry I made you walk. But I thought you'd like to see the property a little." Maeve sighed and held out her hand; Tom winced in irritation and she jerked her hand away before he could reluctantly take it. They glared at each other for a moment and undertook a silent combat of wills.

"Are you the Tom who wanted the books?" Ambrose's hoarse whisper cut the tense silence and Tom's curiosity go the better of him.

"Perhaps. Why?" Tom raised an eyebrow and gave the young boy at Maeve's elbow a cursory glance.

"I just wanted to know how you opened them…?"

"Very carefully. Your sister is helping me when she isn't insisting on scenic walks through the countryside-" Maeve smiled at Tom sweetly and gave Ambrose's tiny ponytail a tug to get his attention. He turned towards her with a mildly annoyed look on his face and she pressed a slender finger to his lips.

"I'm sure Tom wants a tour of the house, how about you two discuss the books while you show him around. I'm feeling a little under the weather-"

"Maeve-" Tom growled, but she ignored him.

"I'm sure you two will get along just fine. I'll be up in my room if you need me-"

"Yes, I'll be _sure _to come _check on _you later, _dearest_." Tom fairly shouted as Maeve waved from the cavernous doorway, outraged by her defiance. The syrup in his tone was venomous and it was a struggle not to glare at Ambrose, who was watching him with a strange look.

"Maeve doesn't get along well with Megaera."

"Why don't either of you call her mother, that's what she is to you." Tom flicked his magically patched coat, wincing at the areas of paler cloth where the _reparo _charm had not quite managed to do it's work. He followed the young boy into the large entrance hall

"She doesn't like being called mother, leastways not by Maeve and I. Mostly Maeve, though. What would you like to see first? I can show you the armory-?" This little boy seemed to know just what to say, and like many pureblood children, _how _to say it.

"You have an armory?"

"Yes, it's been in the family for generations. Battle magic fascinates me, I've been learning all about the goblin rebellions. Some of the books Maeve asked for in her last letter were my favourites on the topic. Our father has us practice all the time." Ambrose traced one dark stone wall with his fingers until he came to an imperceptible crack and pushed hard. The wall shifted out of the way to another, narrower corridor.

Tom felt a wry smile quirk his lips and caught Ambrose's icy blue eyes, brushing his fingers over the boys brow and touching his mind just as lightly. He wasn't a legilimens like his sister but he was just as clever. And Ambrose was surprised by how Maeve had behaved towards him, how even in her defiance, she had deferred.

"Is she not normally obedient?" He mused out loud as they wandered through the cavernous hallways, so large you could just as easily traverse them astride a broom as you could walking across the marble floor. Portraits of legendary Sinclaire's adorned the walls, shifting in their frames and glaring out at him with guarded looks.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing…just musing."

"Oh." Ambrose was quiet again, thinking. They came to a pair of darkly varnished, steel-banded doors and Ambrose pressed his palm to the center of a worn engraving of an eagle and they swung open. Tom was just about to step inside when a small, compact, snarling mass slammed into the back of his leg.

He nearly tripped backwards over Ambrose and made a very unattractive and unlordlike '_Ulachk' _sound as he stumbled away from the canine creature trying to fix it's tiny jaws around his ankle. He fumbled his wand out of his pocket just as Ambrose snatched the offending pet away and shook him violently before gently setting the dog back down again. It had the appearance of a jack russel with a forked tail and it stumbled around dizzily. Ambrose quickly put himself between Tom and the aggressive Krup and preceded to scold it.

"Cereberus! Bad dog! Get out of here, _right now_." The crup tucked it's forked tail between it's legs and whimpered, scuttling around Ambrose and scooting out the door. The young boy slammed it shut, looking furious and embarrassed. "I'm really sorry about him. He doesn't like Arria much, either. Crups are supposed to be fiercely loyal to wizards but I think he's going senile-"

Tom was only half-listening to the young boy speak. Post crup attack, he'd spun around and was now feasting his eyes on the most glorious sight imaginable. Swords with blades of crystal that channeled magic if one placed their wand in a slot in the hilt. A full suit of woman's plate armor, made of bronze and silvery blue Swedish short-snout hide and held together with ash gray tebo skin. Impossibly intricate, elegantly tooled killing implements rested behind glass on velvet cushions, a sapphire dagger with blood still caught in the grooves at it's hilt. Tom marveled at the assemblage of weapons, so distracted that he didn't realise the face he was looking into was not a portrait until she moved out from behind where she was smiling at him on the other side of the display case.

"Who's this, Ambrose?" The woman spoke, smiling warmly at Tom as she traced her fingernails across a mahogany table that held several intricately fashioned helmets. Every move she made was graceful, the curve of her lips sweet and friendly. There was a sense of innate earnestness about her, something that was rare in Slytherin's.

"Arria." Tom replied, recovering from the brief shock. Arria was in many ways a mirror of her mother: Creamy white skin, high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes with a perky nose. Arria was cutely elegant, like a doll. But there was something innately _different _about her, she didn't resemble Maeve or Ambrose nearly as much as siblings should. She was weirdly familiar…perhaps he was thinking of the photos in the trophy room at Hogwarts…

"You know my name? That's funny, I wouldn't have expected Maeve to tell you about me-"

"Horace Slughorn speaks fondly of you." He cut her off, wincing. Even her voice sounded familiar to him, the cadence and the tone. Nothing like Maeve's, but like _someone's_- Arria laughed, a high and carefree note that was pleasant and yet piercing. It was a child's laughter.

"Well, he owled me a few months ago to let me know his prodigy was coming to stay with us. Your Tom, am I right? And you're the reason why Maeve's been so secretive lately-"

" She's not secretive, she just doesn't tell _you _things." Ambrose's voice snapped from beside Tom's elbow, surprisingly vengeful for such a tiny thing. Arria blinked once and shook herself before her smile returned, even warmer after the interruption.

"Yes, well. You should see me intermittently over the next few months. I come and go as I please for the most part, seeing as I'm on break from my internship. I've been working to catalogue dragon species in Albania. It's fascinating work, but tough. Speaking of which, let me know if mum or dad give you any trouble with Maeve…or if they try to ignore you. They're a little inattentive, but really, they mean well. Most of the time." Arria patted Tom's hand where it rested on a display case, her blue green eyes glittering with god humour. "Other than that-" She bounced up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek before he could react. "Welcome to the family!"

With that last, she turned on her heel and disappeared behind a tapestry depicting a particularly bloody battle and was gone. Ambrose sighed quietly from beside Tom, scuffing his shoes against the stone and gently touching the older boy on his elbow to get his attention. Tom looked down at him with one eyebrow raised and spoke:

"I suppose she has a certain naively joyful appeal. Are you certain she was in Slytherin?" Ambrose's tiny frown split into a smile and he grinned up at Tom.

"So they say. Are you a Slytherin, Tom?"

"Yes, I was. I graduated top of my class and as head boy."

"Was the Head Girl a Slytherin too?"

"No. A Gryffindor."

"UGH!" Tom chuckled at the tiny Slytherin in the makings sneer, deciding that he 'liked' the child. He was intelligent for someone so young, and ambitious.

"Indeed. So, shall we continue our tour?"

* * *

D'aww, poor ickle widdle had to walk. AND HEY, LITTLE HANGLETON. And wtf's up with Arria? And Megaera? And where oh where is Maeve's elusive father? A stable for horses? HOUSE-ELVES?

Ahem. I'll stop now.

Let me know if it was too fluffy, but we need some happiness before I wreak havoc and devastation, mi'dears. Love all of you and thanks for the great reviews! :D

~Artanis


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: **Okay, I have been a terrible authoress. I am so sorry for the long wait! Lot's of drama going on in my realm right now, to say the very least :P. But in any case, HUGE THANKS. Especially to Laina, Falconflight, acciomischief and SalazarSlytherin and to any who I've forgotten to mention! Epic bundles of thanks and joy. Every review is so great, you have no idea how excited I am when I get feedback! I've been trying to keep track and reply to everyone reviews, to express my thanks and respond to some of the comments. Really, it's so great to get such positive and constructive feedback…even though I'm a sucky updater. For which I apologise, I just lose my grip on the material sphere sometimes and write twenty pages ahead before I realise I haven't actually finished anything XP. But here you are, next chapter. Where you get to meet the last new human character for a while: Tarquinus. Assuming things go as planned, we should have one more chapter before shocking things happen : ). Enjoy!

"_Power is not alluring to pure minds." _**~ Thomas Jefferson**

There was a knock at the door. Maeve blinked and rolled over, nearly bending the pages of the book she'd fallen asleep reading. Drowsily, she rolled off the white and silver down comforter and trudged to the door. Her room was large and, being at the top of the eastern tower, circular with a vaulted ceiling. She grabbed the silver handle to her door and pulled it open a crack. There were two beings occupying the same tiny sliver of real world and she staggered back at the furious look on the half of Tom's face that was showing and the brief glimpse of Rue's honey colored and bulbous eye before the little house elf popped into the room.

"Mistress! Master Riddle is trying to come up to your quarters unannounced, and I is saying you mightn't be disposed, or that you mightn't be decent and he is threatening me with terrible things, Mistress! And I is only-" Maeve winced at the rapid squeakiness of Rue's voice and clamped a hand over the house-elf's mouth, reaching over and opening the door for Tom who burst inside, angry beyond reason. She threw herself between his wand point and the house elf.

"Tom, she was just doing her duty to the household! Please stop threatening my maid." Maeve reached for his wrist and he ripped his hand away, holstering his wand up his sleeve with a glare in Rue's direction.

"You tell that little speck of filth that I will wander these halls as I please or so help me I will-!" Tom ground his teeth together and bit off the end of his sentence, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep and steadying breath. In the time it took him to calm himself, Maeve turned to her personal house-elf and spoke:

"Riddle is always welcome here, Rue. Now go find Bobbin and help her with whatever she's up to." The house elf popped out of existence and Tom shut the door behind him. Maeve huffed a sigh of exhaustion and flopped down on her bed once more, burying her face in the pillows. She felt Tom's weight as he sat beside her, the light touch as his fingers brushed over her shoulder blades.

"Your family is much more interesting than I had hoped to find them. I haven't seen your mother once since her rather cold greeting and I'm beginning to wonder if you even have a father-"

"He works and mostly she stays in her tower."

"Works? I would hardly think a man like that with a fortune such as this needed to work."

"He enjoys his work, it gets him away from mother. Besides, this was all originally supposed to go to my aunt. It's a long story I don't feel like sharing." She said quickly, shrinking away from his hand a little.

"You needn't. I've read about it in Hogwart's old prophet archive. Sincliare Heiress Imprisoned-"

"Tom." Maeve snapped, clamping her hands over her ears. "Please don't, that's a very painful memory.

"That doesn't make sense. I thought pureblood males inherited estates, thus to provide for their young wives."

"The house of Sinclaire is meant to be matriarchal, first daughter's inherit the estate."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, that's just how it's always been. Their children are given hyphenated surnames and many of them end up identifying with one or the other. All pureblood families tend to tinker with their trees anyway. Lot's of name changing so things don't get too confused."

"Confused?"

"There are several popular names among prominent purebloods that get used frequently and would be extraordinarily disconcerting if you didn't realise that the grooms mother and his bride shared the same first name. So it gets changed."

"The grooms last name never changes?"

"Yes, but mother is an exception. Megaera has as much legal right to the surname Malfoy as she does to the surname Sinclaire by law. First daughter's, like Arria, are forbidden magically to change their surname even when they marry. Their first daughter inherits the surname as well. Megaera can claim Sinclaire in title alone. She owns no property, however. In the event of Uncle Crixtus's death, Abraxas will inherit Malfoy Manor-"

"Ah! Enough! I'd rather trudge through a mile long swathe of devil's snare than try and understand pureblood inheritance! How can anyone remember that?" Tom snapped, uncharacteristically impatient in the face of such daunting by-laws. Maeve frowned, looking mildly affronted.

"You asked. What did you really want to know? Arria shall inherit, I will be left with a considerable dowry sum, when Ambrose comes of age he will own the western apartments or he will marry into a family that owns their own ancestral home. Both of my parents are magically competent, but my father is the savant you are searching for. Ask a round about question and receive a round about answer." Maeve flopped over onto her other side, blonde hair spilling across the pillow like honeyed silk. Tom leaned over her, grabbing her chin and turning her face so he could examine her expression. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes slits of displeasure and her lips pulled into a thin line.

"You don't like it here, in a mansion with all you desire…" The soft, cool tone of his voice was like a chill breeze and she winced and she cast her gaze elsewhere.

"No. Because it is not all that I desire. 'One must seek forever the desire of one's being or else become complacent and be devoid of purpose.' You give me purpose…and I suppose you make being here much more bearable. I just…I'm uneasy here. I apologise, my Lord." She looked back at him, her slender body relaxing into his. The simple phrase 'my Lord' awakened fierce joy in Tom's breast. He pressed his lips to hers, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin and tasting the delicacy of loyalty on her lips. He pulled back after a moment, chuckling at the lust darkened green of her eyes.

"You shouldn't make that so easy for me, viper. Lest I lose myself and take advantage of it one day. Now, when shall I meet your father, Tarquinus?" Tom rolled over onto his back and Maeve carefully rested her head on his chest. He stroked her hair like it was a habit, rearranging the golden strands absently and staring at the ceiling. It was enchanted, just like the great hall of Hogwarts and he felt a pang of longing as he looked up into the perfect transcription of the dusk darkened sky above him, the stars just beginning to light as the sun descended below the horizon.

"Give him a week to realise there's someone else in the mansion. I'm not sure he's gotten my owl yet."

"How could he not? You sent it over a bloody week ago. If I remember correctly, Dowser returned hours after you sent him." As if to agree with his affirmation, there was a cheerful hoot from the corner of the room where Maeve's barn owl sat on a gilt tree perch, shuffling his talons and preening his white and cream breast feathers.

"Sometimes it takes him weeks to notice he has a pile of mail waiting for him, Tom. He's very…busy."

"He's the Head of Healing at St. Mungo's, how busy can he be? I thought the position was mostly directing-"

"Tom, please listen to me. Being Head Healer is a very fluffy cover for a man who does not merely dabble, but _studies _and _practices _forbidden magic. All in the pursuit of the supremacy of magical power. He's a genius, but he's not the kind of man who deals well with random visits. We have to be patient." Tom glared at her for a moment and stood up, stretching and clearly done with the whole physical affection segment of the evening.

"Very well. I assume I am not sleeping here, unless you're hiding my trunk somewhere-" There was a sound of commotion from outside the door. Maeve's face looked so exquisitely pained for a moment that the expression was almost comical.

"Enter!" She barked, somewhat coldly. Tom flicked his wand at the door and it burst open, equally as irritated by the interruption. The three figures framed in the doorway immediately stopped their struggle, Arria snatching a silver serving tray from Ambrose and nudging a furious looking house elf aside with her foot.

"Hello! I-" Arria began, her high voice laced with awkward cheer.

"Did you need something?" Tom glanced back at the sound of visceral, icy disdain in Maeve's voice. Her mind was steely and sharp and Arria seemed to wince slightly at her younger sister's tone.

"I told you. You should have let me take them the dinner-"

"It it not the young master's job to deal with guests-" Arria swatted the pair of them with an offhand backwards gesture and sweetened her smile further.

"I can escort you to your room, Tom. That is what you prefer to be called, correct? And I brought your dinner, Maeve-" Maeve marched up to her sister, took the covered dish and set it on the corner of a table littered with books.

"Why on earth do we have house elves, Arria? It upsets them when you try to do house work. I know you can barely read but surely you can find a more suitable way of wasting time than inserting yourself into my affairs." Tom tried to dampen down his legilimancy, or focus it on Arria. What was wrong with…_jealousy_. Maeve was feeling the great, poisonous, emerald emotion of envy.

"You…you're completely right, 'eve. I apologise, I know you don't need your big sister looking over your shoulder-" Arria's emotional strain was visible, her smile cracking at the corners. But it was not righteous fury that lit her clear eyes, it was hurt.

"Get. Out."

"Tom? May I show you to your rooms? Or do you-" Arria turned uncertainly to Maeve, who's eyes flashed as her lip curled in a snarl and she folded her arms over her chest.

"His choice."

"Maeve." Tom, for maybe the second time in the entirety of their relationship, touched Maeve's mind with the sort of fleeting gesture that might equate to the physical version of a peck on the lips or the stroke of her hair behind her ears. The sense of relief was immediate, her features smoothed themselves slightly. "Goodnight, my viper. I will see you for breakfast."

"Goodnight, Tom. Ambrose. Rue." Maeve nodded in their direction and then turned to her bed, the emotional charity provided by the mental touch at an end. Tom turned and stepped around Arria, Ambrose scuttling out of his way and pulling the door shut behind him. The oldest of the Sinclaire children turned to her youngest sibling and after a short disagreement, had the house elf put him to bed.

The next five minutes were spent in companionable silence as Arria lead him through torch lit, castle like corridors. Her hips swung delicately through the pale cream robe she was wearing. Her corn-silk hair was perfectly coifed, her small, pouty lips darkly and wetly stained with lipstick the colour of fresh blood. Arria had the kind of incandescent beauty and class found in muggle movie stars, even though she was clearly upset by her sister's anger.

"You two are very cute together." Tom made a face and Arria's laugh, strangely and ironically familiar, echoed through the hallway. "You don't like me saying that, I know. But Maeve's not very friendly on the best of days, but she's definitely different around you. Worse, in certain ways. But happier…core, she'd be furious if she knew I was telling you this."

"You take after your mother, don't you?" Was all he managed to murmur between gritted teeth. Arria winced slightly and tipped her head from side to side, her smile half-cocked and pinched.

"Yes and no. I like to think I'm much more polite than she is, but the aunts say I'm just like her when she was my age. Ambrose and Maeve…they don't smile enough."

"Has it ever occurred to you, Arria, that they are living in a reality you refuse to acknowledge?" The words were out of his mouth before he could reconsider them and though mildly surprised by his own impulsiveness, Tom pretended to inspect the portraits on the wall with great interest.

"I-they're so young, they don't understand that there's more to life than just being pureblood. I want to show them that-"

"Perhaps there is more to life than being happy."

"I-Maeve doesn't know how lucky she is." For the first time, Arria's familiar tone rang with something other than meek submission. Her pale brows furrowed in a look of consternation that was once again, familiar. Did she remind him of Abraxas? "To be able to choose. To have the choice to have you."

"Are you regretting that you pleased your parents so much that you are the heiress to their estate? Forgive me if that seems backwards."

"My engagement to Rowle was a farce. I'm engaged to a Rosier now…also a mockery. I don't even know him, yet I'm going to have to marry him-" Tom winced in irritation at the woefulness of Arria's voice. This girl who was supposed to be so strong, who was supposed to represent the noble house of Sinclaire, was a whinging child.

"Where are my rooms?" Arria opened her mouth, then closed it again and gestured forward. They continued in silence, until she reached a door on the left.

"This is your suite. I'm sorry for the whining. Here." She placed the tray on a mahogany table and backed out of the room, shutting the door.

It was two weeks of exploring the mansion, reading the vast assemblage of knowledge stored in the library and ogling the various artifacts stored around the house before he received a tiny, monogrammed card inviting him to the northern tower and to the office of Tarquinus Eros Sinclaire with his morning tea. He sent a house-elf in search of Maeve. The elf had returned an hour later only to inform him that the Mistress had gone for a ride and would not be back until late in the after noon. For the first week, Maeve had stayed obediently at his side and showed him the libraries, both public and secret; and instructed him not to venture into the comparatively small dungeons(only fifty cells and a room who's purpose Maeve refused to elaborate on) with the pretense that there were several rather nasty charms down there and at least one violent poltergeist.

After this week, Maeve had been spending most of her time outside. He'd joined her once or twice, but found that his need to explore the mansion had prevented him from truly enjoying the summer air. Persuading her to stay inside had been fruitless and painful, she'd try to hide the despondent vexation from him but was poor at it. Finally, he'd allowed her the free rein to wander. She would return at around three o'clock, much refreshed and smelling faintly of horse.

But he hadn't wanted to wait that long, and had somewhat foolishly(in retrospect) set off towards what he had assumed might be the northern tower. The hallways had grown alien, older. Though he kept taking stairways that lead to where he needed to go, and always stairways that lead down, he seemed to be on the very top floor. Weary and frustrated, he stormed along a sort of balcony like structure all the while doing a four point spell which was refusing to show him the way north and just kept spinning lazily in his palm. Tom glowered at it furiously as though by a sheer force of will he could-

"Lost?" He stopped so abruptly he nearly dropped his wand. Which would have been a very, very dangerous move…considering what was lounging in between him and the door at the end of the corridor he'd been obliviously storming along.

Eyes glowing like the heart of a roaring forge watched him with something like delight dancing in their ancient depth. A shiny ebony beak that curved like a scimitar gave way to feather's that were the same blue as a night sky dusted with stars glistened on the proud neck, melting at the barrel to dusky gold fur. A long, plumed tale wrapped around massive hind paws, a large portion of the black marble floor swept clear of dust in it's wake. Despite the ferocity of the image, the griffin looked rather at home. One glittering, half a foot long talon tapped a gentle rhythm on the floor as the beast cocked it's head to watch him with one fiery orange eye. Tom blinked several times and the griffin turned it's head to regard him with the other eye. He cleared his throat, brought himself up to his full height and then bowed low to the creature.

"Forgive me for the intrusion."

"Do not ask my forgiveness, Son of Salazar." The griffin's voice was raspy, like the croak of an ancient raven. The accent it spoke with was distinctly alien, but closest in rhythm and pronunciation to a deep, Scottish brugh. To emphasize the dismissal of his apology, it waved one cruel taloned foreleg through the air and shook it's head. "For you shall not earn it. The debt of the sons of Slytherin owe is one that cannot be paid if both the lines last past the next score of eons. Which is unlikely."

"I…What are you doing here?"

"Oh no, you are in my domain and will nary question me. There was once a sacred trust that was held between us, and it is only because of ancient accord that I did not strike you dead when you entered these halls. You are lucky, son of Slytherin, that you do not stumble foolishly through the halls of the much diluted house of Smith. The children of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor would hold no mercy for your ilk. You would be but a meal for a hungry sphinx." The griffin snorted and folded it's talon forelegs.

"You must be very wise and ancient to be endowed with such knowledge, noble griffin." He back tracked, bowing lower. The submission rankled, but it was far better than the alternative. And who knew how old the griffin was, if it remembered the founders?

" As you say it is, son of Salazar. You may call me Aquilageron, Guardian of the bloodline that was born from the union of the most wise name of Ravenclaw and the brave house of Gryffindor."

"That…I…Aquilageron, noble guardian, I seek Tarquinus Sinclaire."

"You can stop flattering me and get to the point, before I change my mind and eat you. Go back the way you came, heir to line of fallen grace." The griffin shuffled it's claws uninterestedly and nibbled at the crumbling granite

"I need to speak with Tarquin. Where is he?" Tom snapped, abruptly fed up and frustrated with the beast; foolish in his haste. What happened next was far to fast for him to react had he even been expecting the attack, which he had not.

Aquilageron leapt and knocked him flat on his back with a scream that was so loud it stunned him, the wind knocked from his chest upon his impact with the cold stone. A black, scaly talon pinned him to the ground and the creature brought one immense, burning orange eye to his it's breath stinking of congealed blood.  
"I do not answer to you, feeble bairn! Speak the hissing tongue to your own pet and he will obey but I have no living mistress and serve only her decedents! If I tell you to leave you will leave or you will die. The trust forbids me from killing you on sight but make not the mistake of fools before you: I will not hesitate to finish the task Rowena began when I was barely more than a fledgling, serpent speaker!" The talons tightened almost unbearably on his chest and he gasped with pain.

"I…release me…now." The griffin wheeled back from him with a cry, clacking it's beak angrily. Tom heaved a massive breath, reaching for his wand only to have his arm nearly bitten off as Aquilageron's beak snapped shut on air in front of it.

"You try my patience, little snake! Take your wand and begone. He whom you seek awaits you." With one powerful leap, the griffin spread his wings and jumped off a broken section of the balcony walkway, spiraling downwards into the darkness. Tom snatched his wand seconds before it could roll of the edge and into the abyss, leaping to his feet.

It would be another hour of retracing his steps, of taking stairs that seemed as though they were climbing higher, before he returned to something like the main floor. It was a large corridor full of fully grown trees and he strode across the jade tiles, clutching his wand tightly in his fist before he heard a very distinct meow from his left.

"_IMPEDIMENTA_!" The red light bounced off the floor and sailed off at an angle, missing the kneazle by mere inches. Tom swore and nearly flung his wand at the cat in a fit of pique, clutching a fistful of his dark hair instead and sucking in a harsh breath.

"I don't suppose you know where Tarquin is?" He snapped angrily, raising an eyebrow as the kneazle made a derisive phut noise and flicked his plumed tail dismissively. Struggling with the keen urge to hex the animal, tom took a deep breath and tried again. "I apologise deeply for firing at you, is there anyway you could guide me to his study."

Salix stretched and trotted off ahead of Tom with all the authority of a monarch, stopping once to make sure he was following before setting a brisk pace out of the corridor and onwards through a strange assemblage of side passages and nonsensical spiral staircases until it stopped dead in the middle of a long dark corridor. The kneazle stopped as if he'd hit an invisible wall, his fur standing on end. It hissed, backing into Tom's ankles so that he nearly tripped over it. Tom pulled his wand from his sleeve and proceeded cautiously, coming to the edge of the hallway where it broadened and forked to the right. There was no outward sign of any danger, merely dark red carpeting that flowed down the brazier lined hall to a large set of doors that looked to be made out of some sort of beaten, copper toned metal. It was inset with a sapphire likeness of the family crest:

Finally.

Tom took several long strides and nearly grasped the intricately fashioned door handle before he thought better of it and cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling out his wand and aiming it at the doors.

"_Revealio hexus_." A grayish wisp issued from his wand and quested across the surface of the door. After a moment, it dissipated; deeming the door at least safe from the immediately obvious and worst of any curses.

Tom reached out and gingerly pushed open the door, swinging heavily but easily on it's hinges.

The room he entered was immense and circular, bookshelves lining it's walls and the large, arched stained glass windows. Whispering seemed to issue from some unknown source, echoing around the cavernous hall of the study. A large spiral staircase wound through the centre of the room in a blatant defiance of physics, its white stone glittering with rainbow tints from where sunlight slanted through the coloured glass. There were tables set throughout the room and a large, mahogany desk placed on a dias before the largest of the windows. A small, blackened little figure was trudging between the tables and collecting bits of parchment and things, single-minded in it's movements and purpose.

"You," Tom strode inside, approaching the figure from behind. "I'm looking for Tarquin-"

Tom's intake of breath was almost a scream. The thing…had presumably once been a house-elf. It was now what was _left _of a house-elf. It was even more emaciated-looking than a normal specimen, it's skin blackened and necrotic. The bulbous eyes were milk white and rolled in their sockets to gaze at him unseeingly, it's jaw hanging slack. Riddle retreated, grasping for the edge of a table to steady himself and aiming his wand at the creature. The thing set down it's armful of books neatly and shambled over to the staircase, tottering away to a lower level.

Less than a moment later, a man emerged from the lower staircase and Tom Marvolo Riddle got his first physical glimpse of the man who was Maeve's father. Her memory of the man had not done him true justice. Tarquinus was a tall man, thin and fine boned but certainly not feeble. His features were sharp and pointed, giving him an alarmingly vulpine appearance. His eyes were the same dark, deep green as Maeve's; though the shape of them was dissimilar and he wore a pair of half-moon spectacles that perched on the bridge of his downward sloping nose. His shoulder length hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, so dark red that in the poor light it could have been mistaken for black. A few strands of it had escaped and hung across his large forehead, tickling the edge of one arched, carmine brow. Tarquinus smiled a smiled that did not reach his eyes and placed a long fingered hand on his chest, bending slightly at the waist and inclining his head.

"Ah, you must be the gifted pupil Horace owl-ed me about. Riddle, was it? I trust I need no introduction." Tarquin's voice was smooth, his Scottish lilt cultured. Remarkably for a man of upwards of forty years old, his face was unlined and his general countenance indicative of a man half his age. Tarquin waved his wand and conjured two couches and a small, knee-high table. "Sit. You must be famished, I know I am."

Tom bit his tongue until he tasted blood, trying to relax into the couch. Tarquin had not been what he was expecting, not by any means. Maeve had given the impression of an older man so wrapped up in study he had little time for anything or anyone else, painting the portrait of a man deeply interested in the dark arts but only from a studious point of view. Brilliant but incompetent, was what Tom had wrongfully assumed. Clearly, this was not the case. Tarquin snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared, Tom cringing on impulse even though this one seemed to be the customary sort and not the blackened and gnarled little creature of before. Tarquinus noted this and took a pewter goblet off the tray the elf was carrying, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip before he spoke:

"Slughorn is a hapless fool, but he does have an eye for potential talent and skill. I have known of you for years, in fact. That man hasn't given me a moments peace on the matter of young Tom Riddle. He wished me to take you on as a student, during your summers. I refused…the realm of study into which I delve is not for the faint of heart, and though Sluhorn knows more of my methods than most; he is frightfully ignorant of their true nature. And it would seem that after all the trouble I went to trying to ignore that infuriating little fat man, the very object of his greatest hopes for wizard kind has ensnared the most gifted of my children and shown up on my very doorstep. Merlin clearly has a sense of humour.

But then, I suppose I should have expected that this would happen sooner or later. And, if the nattering's of Horace are to be believed and my brother in laws access to exam scores the truly without peer, you are worthy of my attention and thusly of Maeve's."

"I…Thank you, sir." Tom murmured, appearing as cool and collected as the man across from him despite his heart beating a jagged rythmn against his ribcage. Tarquin was, against all odds, impressive. Maeve's father smiled, his thin lips splitting to reveal a row of brilliant white teeth.

"Ah, you are a young man of few words. I find I have a growing lack of irascibility for this social visit." It was unclear to Tom whether or not Tarquinus was joking, and the man offered no further information.

"What is it that you study, if that's not too bold a question."

"I'm sure Maeve has told you something of my experiments, no?"

"Something, but not enough to fully grasp the concepts behind them. She is reluctant to volunteer information…" Tom trailed off, uncertain. Should Maeve had told him more of her father? Tarquinus had just claimed that he felt Maeve was the 'most gifted' of all his children, what would be his reaction to learning that his daughter had not entrusted Tom with more information than the mere bare bones?

"She knows the value of knowledge, unlike her siblings. It is remarkable that she even told you something of what I do. She must believe you to be truly capable. For that, I will also trust you. My area of study is most predominantly focused on sangumancy and necromancy, neither of which are acceptable to the current Ministry." Tarquinus sprawled backwards across the couch, lounging and fixing his gaze on Tom's. "I expect, however, that you will want an explanation for Ascelpius? You were unsettled by his appearance, no doubt."

"I-" it took Tom a moment to realise Tarquin was referring to the elf he'd seen upon his arrival. "Yes, sir."

"You are a Slytherin and as such I feel no need to mince words: the elf is an Inferi, a reanimated corpse. His death and reanimation was completely intentional and I have been using certain other tactics to try and delay his decomposition, many of which were unsuccessful. Funnily enough, muggle embalming fluid seems to have done the trick." Tarquin paused here to give Tom an appraising look and gauge his reaction. Tom took a careful sip of red wine and swallowed, patiently waiting for the dark wizard across from him to continue.

"That being said, one elfin inferius is the least of what I do when I am not running a hospital for the infirm and if we are to maintain a working relationship, I expect you to be able to handle arcane practices that are beyond the ken of any of the weak-willed professors who have taught you before. The pursuit of knowledge and power is the supreme concern of any witch or wizard. This the code by which I live my life and the maxim that I have tried to impart upon both Maeve and Ambrose."

"If I may, why would you take me on now?"

"Knowledge is why you are here. Having a seeress as a sister has done nothing if not endow me with a healthy respect for things that are fated to be so. I will not rebel against the inevitable. That, and I would not waste the most promising of my progeny on a wizard who is anything but the most competent of his generation. There are no stupid descendents of Rowena, my dear boy. Mad ones every few generations and a handful of squibs, but we're certainly not the Smith's."

"Did Cassandra ever speak of me?"

"No. And never directly to me of any of her visions, in fact. Except to predict my marriage to Megaera, which she told me would be a complete disaster. She felt that I was already armed enough with my uncommon interest in forbidden texts and practices. Ever the saintly one, dear Cassie. Until her muggleborn husband died and she tried to poison my children in a fit of pique. My point is that events are not linear, but each is a piece of the universe's puzzle. Your arrival here and rumored ability, paired with my sudden, charitable desire to pass along my knowledge is no accident." Tarquin stood up, the couch vanishing from beneath him. Tom followed, still in mild awe of the man before him.

"You have been an intriguing diversion, young Tom. Feel free to owl me when you wish to be taught, or send one of the house-elves in ahead of you. I did away with the precautionary charms today in anticipation of your arrival, but I will re-erect the barriers after you depart." Tarquin was taller than him by a few inches, and Tom felt a flicker of annoyance as he shook the man's icy cold hands. As he did so, Tom noticed some sort of marking on Tarquin's wrist, some sort of thorn like tattooing done in red ink.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, sir."

"Call me Tarquinus. All I ask is that you send my love to Maeve and tell her that I have some new spells to teach her, if she so desires. If not, see if you can convince her to at least attend one of your lessons. Good day to you…Riddle." Tarquin dipped his head and turned to go without waiting for Tom's reply, disappearing back down the steps; his carmine robes trailing behind him.

Had there been something strange in the way he'd spoken the hated surname Riddle? Tom pondered it as he left through the double doors, averting his eyes to keep from looking at the inferius Asclepius. _No, of course not. _It had been a long day, and he was reading too much into the semantics and tone of a man who said everything as though he were infinitely superior.

_**Self-serving Author's End Note: **_So, it has come to my attention(after repeated attempts :P) that I have no drawing skill. Thusly, I have a question to ask of you: Does anyone have artistic skill? And a really great feel for how the death eaters and or the others look? And loads of time on their hands? If I possessed any finances at all(which I don't, deeply in the negatives with college and all) I would commission somebody. But yeah, just a sort of selfish thought that maybe, if the fancy took anyone, they could do a little drawing for me. Oh, and happy birthday to me on Friday! Twenty years of uselessness completed!


	18. Chapter 18

-1

**Author's Note: **So sorry guys, a TON of plot reveals and little mini things in this chapter! It's hard, because I really wanted to introduce and allow you to truly get a feel for these guys while still moving towards the climactic chapter(next or perhaps the ONE AFTER THAT. Goddess, I have a problem…). But consider this my celebratory update since I FINALLY get to see HP7 part II. Bloody hell, work's been murder so I never got to see it on midnight. That wont stop me from dressing up tonight, however XD. Enjoy and review, my lovelies!

"_Here is my secret, a very simple secret. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly what is essentially invisible to the eye." _**Antoine de Saint-Exupery**,_The Little Prince_

Megaera tapped the half-empty glass of champagne against her arm, staring out the window. It was a wet day, had rained in the early morning hours and left the grass heavy with the weight of the water. Silvered it save for two trails that wound their way up the hill…they'd gone riding. She looked down at the window sill, her fingers tightening on the glass as she bit down hard on her pouty bottom lip. Drew back her arm and hurled the glass at the mahogany sill with all the force she could muster. The glass shattered into a thousand tiny shards that glinted in the gray light slanting through the large picture window and she turned, the train of her pleated, blue satin robe sweeping through the thick dust and glass shards.

It was her room. Well, not her's, per say. The room where she had been kept after her indiscretion, the small and yet still mildly lavish room where she had belonged. She'd once broken every thing of beauty she could get her hands on in this room. A prison…the glass on the window, was it still unbreakable? Megaera shook herself in disgust, reaching out to touch the mattress and remembering snapping the leg off a chair-she'd bruised herself horribly-and using it to tear at the thick bedding. A froth of dusty feathers still covered the silver bedspread. It had all been left nearly untouched…

She knelt beside the dresser, pulling out the last drawer and reaching inside. These had been touched since her long ago imprisonment, by Maeve. Megaera had found Tarquin's daughter sitting with the three cherished books, reading through them. And she'd blasted them out of her hands, terrified the curious twelve year old. For the love of Merlin, what was a twelve year old doing reading them, anyway? Megaera had never been a reader, but she knew these by heart. History books, mostly. He'd wanted to study history, been fascinated by cultures. She picked them up, pressed them to her nose and tried to catch a faint hint of scent. It was fruitless, there was nothing of him left.

Megaera replaced the books and rose, dusting off her knees and leaving the room. She felt a chill of dread as she departed and shut the door with it's crystal knob behind her, wincing when it finally shut fully. She could still remember the surprise and horror on Maeve's face when she realised she'd been caught with whatever had amounted to forbidden texts. Megaera did not feel guilty for shouting at her child, nor for striking at her(She'd left a little scar, right below Maeve's left ear, from where the stone of her wedding band had cut the tender flesh with the force of the blow) but she certainly felt ashamed. To still be so fond of a few old books handed to her as a parting gift, and even then a grudging one. For tears shed and wasted on a hopeless and stupid little girl's affair. She should have burned the books long ago…maybe one of these days…

After traversing the narrow little servants hallway and allowing her slippers to scuff over a drawing room and up a winding flight of stairs, she entered her own apartments. Every shade of blue imaginable covered the soft, opulent furnishings, save for the thick, white carpet and pale stained wood that made up the chairs, tables and bed frame. She had her own reasons for adoring the colour, not the least of which was how much Tarquin hated it. When Arria had been just a tiny little girl, she'd insisted on dressing her in blue and her eldest, most lovely daughter had taken a shine to the colour immediately and she'd been secretly, deviously proud. Antagonistic to the last.

The perverse pleasure she'd taken in hurting Tarquin by doting upon Arria had pushed Tarquin practically to the edge of his patience. He'd purposely made horrible matches for her daughter, pureblood to compound the insult, each one of them brutes. The incident with Dante during the Yule party had been inexcusable and _planned_. Her husband was nothing if not a master of manipulation and if hurting Arria was what it took to make Megaera yield, he would do so in the breadth of a heartbeat. None of it was fair.

What kind of warped and twisted cruel vein of fate had lead to this, of all things? It could not be mere coincidence that the boy looked exactly like his father; talked, walked and spoke like him? The man who that little bitch, that ugly Gaunt girl had stolen from her? She'd seen him and wanted to cry, to run and run and run until her lungs gave out and she fell upon a heath somewhere and died. Not fair. And Tarquin had known for months…she wondered at his initial reaction to the news that his only daughter was involved with a half blood. The son of the only man who had ever been able to compete with him, a filthy muggle. But clearly, Tarquin had not been perturbed enough that he couldn't enjoy her misery at seeing the carbon copy of the man she'd fallen in love with consorting with Maeve, the child she wanted so badly to hate.

"Mum?" Megaera opened her eyes and turned, seeing Arria framed in her doorway a tentative look on her little porcelain perfect face. Even at the age of twenty three, Arria was still her little girl.

"You're home! Why didn't you owl me ahead of time?"

"Oh. I was…a bit busy. Sorry." Megaera enfolded her daughter in a tight embrace and felt the hesitancy in her child's shoulders as she returned the hug. Arria was easy to read and she was hiding something. Megaera wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was so she stepped back and smiled blithely.

"Are you worried about the new fiance? You shouldn't, he's really quite-"

"I'm not worried!" Arria's smile was too bright and she sniffed, rubbing her nose quickly. "Just wanted to see you and talk about things."

In truth, her mother only half-listened to what Arria was saying. Megaera loved how her daughter spoke, in the cadence of her voice was that of her father's, even though the two of them had never met. The shape of her eyes was all Megaera's, wide-set and lovely and doll-like in their sweetness. Her cheekbones had a slant like his, though. Her mannerisms were like his had been, the little stretch of the neck before having to accomplish something difficult.

"Mum…are you alright?" Megaera blinked away the moisture in her eyes and beamed.

"Fine, darling. What were you saying?"

"I was asking whether or not you'd thought about Maeve and this Riddle boy. He seems just like father…" Arria shuddered in disgust, smoothing her cream colored skirt. _That's strange, why is she-_ "I went through muggle London this morning and felt it was better to be safe then sorry."

"I care about you and your marriage, Arria. Maeve will do whatever she wants. She always does-"

"That's not the point! Haven't you considered that it might not be healthy for her to-"

"Your younger sister is more than capable of digging her own grave. She's a big girl." Megaera sniffed, needlessly rearranging some items on her vanity. Arria's doll-like features twisted into something stubborn and eerily like Megaera's own imperious glare.

"I'm a big girl too, Mother. Is that what you told yourself when Dante…hit me?" A bottle of fine perfume hit the white marble counter and shattered, it's strong scent of lilac and tuberose stinging Megaera's nose.

"That was your father's fault." Her voice was strained, reedy. Curse him, damn Tarquinus for endeavoring to turn her own precious daughter against her.

"Will it be father's fault when it happens to Maeve?"

"Yes, and may the blame be on his shoulders as much as her own." She turned a cold, icy glare on her oldest child and was shaken when Arria's own gaze did not falter. There was a defiance there that gave Megaera a chilling sense of déjà vu.

"I'll take it up with father, then." Arria turned her back on her mother and left the apartment, her nose in the air and her walk stiff. Megaera buried her face in her hands and sobbed. The sapphire in her wedding ring leaving a scratch across her cheek from which a single tear of blood fell.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

Ambrose liked to be well-informed and most of the time, it wasn't difficult for him to be. Megaera largely ignored him and father was always willing to give him the passwords to places and the keys to the libraries. He'd read over Maeve's volumes of school notes and snuck into Arria's room to poke around. His eldest sister had twice gotten furious with him for 'spying' and yet she never locked her door or placed any protective charms on it.

All the information gathering was useful and he knew things that in truth, no seven year old should know about his family. Right now, Ambrose was focusing on Tom. He'd just received an owl from one of Maeve's professors telling him a variety of interesting tidbits…all of which seemed impossible. Ambrose was rushing down the hall carrying the large envelope, heedless of any of the curses that he might trigger with Salix trotting after him and mewing desperately.

Amazingly, he arrived at Tarquin's study unscathed and rushed up to the third floor of the tower where his father was standing over a stone basin full of a swirling liquid that emitted a soft silver light. Tarquin did not glance up as his panting son collapsed in a heap at the top of the stairs, his little chest huffing with each labored breath. After a moment, Tarquin blinked and seemed to recover. He looked up from the pensieve, tying back his shoulder length red hair with a flick of his wand.

"Is it not common place to send owls when one wishes to deliver a message or were you hoping your own decapitated corpse might have the desired effect of impressing upon me the urgency of your errand? You are lucky that I just finished speaking with Arria-"

"Father! Riddle! He's an orphan! He's not even a pureblood! I know because I took the passage to Little Hangleton and I saw there's a family of them and he must be a muggleborn but I couldn't find his mother and…" Ambrose paused to take a breath and realized his father's expression hadn't changed. "You…you already knew?"

"Of course. Do you think I'd be uninformed about anyone living under this roof?" Tarquin's icy tone sounded mildly affronted.

"Then it's true? But I thought Riddle was…I-" Ambrose winced slightly, wounded by his own ignorance and an irrational sense of betrayal.

"Has Riddle ever yet lied to you?" Tarquin asked, throwing a purple velvet cover over the glowing basin without sparing Ambrose a glance. "No, he has not. He merely did not tell you that he is in fact a half-blood. He did not lie, he omitted."

"A lie by omission is still a lie, father."

"Oh Merlin, you're starting to sound like your mother. Rowena forbid I allow any of you out of my influence for even a moment or you turn into that _woman_." Tarquin's lip curled and his vulpine features twisted in an expression that was half disgust, half despair.

"Doesn't it bother you! That Riddle isn't a pureblood?"

"If you were anyone but my own son, it would bother me that you took such an interest in other's affairs. And no, it does not. Blood dictates birthright, that has always been the quarrel. It has little to do with magical competency or power…and Maeve has plenty of birthright for the pair of them." Tarquin scoffed, rearranging some items on his desk and carefully place a glassy, glowing globe into the drawer in his desk with utmost care. Ambrose watched him carefully, cocking his head to the side.

"That's one of aunt Cassandra's prophecies." Tarquin glowered with such impressive force Ambrose snapped his mouth shut and took two swift steps backward.

"Does no one in this _family _have anything better to do than bother me with their reservations about Tom Riddle? For Merlin's sake…I'll never have a moments peace, will I?" Tarquin stormed over to a cart in the corner of the room and started tipping various powders and liquids together into a flask, taking a ladleful of something boiling in a miniature cauldron. He swilled it once around the glass base of the instrument and then, adding a dash of mead, knocked back the concoction. "Why don't you run along and go finish that map you were endeavoring to draw? Of the mansion and the grounds…"

"Father, why don't you teach me the things you taught Maeve? That you're teaching Tom? I could learn them too, couldn't I? Learn some magic before I went to school…" Ambrose trailed off, confused. He'd come to his father's study to tell him about Tom's blood status, it'd never been his intention to ask for tutoring. But childishly, it was something he wanted. Part of him(the idiotic part, he reasoned) felt that maybe if he could prove himself to his father, he could be the protégé that Tarquin had always wanted to make of his older sister.

His father paused, both hands gripping the edges of the small medicine cart. He took a quick breath and exhaled through his nose before carefully stepping back and turning to survey his son. He folded his arms over his chest and winced, as though the movement were painful. Expressionless after the brief lapse, his dark green eyes as cold as emeralds; he reached out and picked up a thin, yellow book. Seemed to debate whether or not to hand it to Ambrose, who stood on his tiptoes trying to peek at the cover(he could just glimpse the gothic lettering of three large SSS's, some sort of society-?); then replaced the book on the highest area of the shelf he himself could reach and shook his head firmly. "No. Go finish your map."

"But father-"

"I said-" Tarquin's voice was raised to almost a shout to be heard over Ambrose's pathetic plea. He quieted as he saw his son's face fall and cleared his throat. "I said no. Now go finish your map…or have your sister read you some of those mermish lullabies. I don't have the time."

"Should I tell her…about Tom?" Tarquin was quiet for a moment and then shook his head quickly.

"If she does not already know, then she wishes to be ignorant. I by no means commend her choice or advocate for the blissful freedom from onerous knowledge, but she is young and a woman. Allow her some peace." Ambrose sighed, deeply and heavily. His little throat squeaked a bit, his eyes swollen with tears as he walked back down the spiral staircase and out of the study.

"You're not flourishing enough on the upsweep, Riddle." Tom made a face that could have poisoned a well and jerked his wand arm up so sharply one of the large oaken tables flipped over like it was caught in a gale, scattering it's contents everywhere. He swore, struggled with the urge to light the table on fire and then decided against it.

"That is not-! I am…never mind." Tom hated, hated that Tarquinus would call him Riddle. Because Tarquinus wasn't an idiot, he knew that surname. Even if he was infuriatingly vague about how he knew it.

"We do not pick our name in this life, Tom. We are given a name and it defines us, however much we might wish it does not. Now, once more. With the flourish." Tarquinus leaned back against one of the heavy tables, his legs crossed and his bloody red hair hanging loose to his shoulders . Tom flourished, aggressively. The training dummy's guts spilled, cut open from nose to navel.

"Good enough, I suppose. The lesson is over for now-"

"That was not good enough. I fail to understand what good it does to reiterate these basic maneuvers! It's a waste of time!" He wanted to strike at something, someone. The house elf was nowhere in sight and Tarquinus was at his desk, calmly scribbling at a bit of parchment, ignoring the minor temper tantrum. Tom immediately felt ashamed, and then furious for feeling so. He approached Tarquin's desk and settled himself in the chair in front of it, fuming. After a drawn out moment, Tarquin spoke:

"Time. You do not believe you have enough of it. You wish to prolong your life."

"I…" Tom lashed out with his mind, surprised that he had not felt Tarquin's perusal. He was met with a vision of a young Megaera and a harsh, buzzing sound.

"I am an occlumens, I have little skill is legilimancy. I know your desire because I have studied the motivations and desires of dark wizards throughout the ages. All knew how short their lifespan would likely be and sought to stave off death. I myself have only a decade left, perhaps less." Tarquin spoke as he always did, quiet and unruffled, steepling his fingers and tapping them against his chin.

"You are hardly old."

"And yet the magic I have performed, and the ways in which I used it; are what is killing me. A man can shave years off his life experimenting in the ways I have done." For the first time since Tom had begun his 'lessons', Tarquin Sinclaire looked his age. Just for a moment, the dark green eyes that so resembled Maeve's took on an exhausted cast as they gazed at the floor. Quickly, the look was replaced by one of quiet inquiry swiftly fixed on Tom's face. "You know of horcruxes, I assume? One of the books Maeve procured mentioned them, though briefly."

"Do you have any horcruxes, sir?"

"Riddle, do not refer to me as 'sir'. Groveling obeisance ill becomes you and I already know you want something. And the answer is no, I do not. My interest was nothing more than professional curiosity. Yes, I know how to make one. But I will tell you only when I deem you ready to receive the information." Tarquin folded his arms and Tom felt fury rise within him. How dare this man treat him like a child, how dare he tell him he was not ready for something he craved! Who did he think he was? Tom was preparing an argument, a vituperative one, when there was a loud thump and the sound of shattering glass from behind him.

"Darling," The saccharine drawl was mocking in it's sweetness and seductive tenor. Tom turned, trying to soften the snarl of his lips into a neutral expression as Megaera placed her delicate hands to her face in mock horror, looking down at the several heavy books and delicate instrument she knocked over to get their attention. "I'm so clumsy! Merlin, it's just been so long since I've been in this room…I forget where everything is!"

"Nonsense, my love. It must be unsettling for you to set eyes on the very picture of your deepest desire once more, and know how far it is beyond your reach." Tarquin replied, stepping around to lean back lazily against the edge of his desk, his lips quirked into a sneer. An look of crazed pain flickered over Megaera's features before it was replaced with a serpent's smile. She strode into the study, her hips swaying and her darkly lined sapphire eyes glinting with malice. She slunk by Tom like he wasn't even there, but then, her avoidance was far too calculated.

"Does it rankle, love? Knowing that your favourite is in the end, just…" Megaera brought her lips intimately close to her unmoving husbands ear, speaking so softly, Tom could barely hear her. "…like me?"

"Riddle, we shall continue this lesson at a later date." Tarquin surveyed his watch uninterestedly, as though his wife's proximity were nothing out of the ordinary. Despite his anger at being dismissed, Tom turned on his heel and departed, sensing the roiling tension and having no wish to be privy to what was surely going to turn into a loud, angry lovers spat.

He'd barely set foot outside the door when he heard a gasp and a scuffle. On reflex he chanced a glance back at the scene framed in the ornate doorway. Megaera was lying across the length of the desk, one long leg wrapped around her husbands waist and her fingers buried in his dark red hair. Tarquin was kissing her forcefully, so hard her head seemed bent back at an unnatural angle. One hand fisted in the bunched blue fabric at her hip-Tom whirled and fled down the hallway.

* * *

The mansion was beautiful. It was a place far removed from time and distance. Tom could not help but compare it to his own child hood growing up in the cramped and dirty orphanage and wince. He'd become somewhat addicted to slipping into Maeve's mind while she slept and exploring her childhood memories. Despite the difference in upbringing, the memories she most loved and cherished were strangely similar to his own: Sitting alone, away from the adults and musing. Surprisingly, some even featured his death eaters when they were only children, Rafe a tiny and scruffy haired little straggler and sometimes a white blonde Abraxas with his limpid blue eyes, a tiny flash of red curls from Evangeline…elusive, twisting, bright childish memories that seemed to vanish from his grasp almost as soon as he touched them. But he'd gradually been experiencing little bits and pieces of something he'd unconsciously felt robbed of.

He'd started venturing outside with her, surprised by how much he'd missed the feeling. And startled by the change in his most devote servants face and mien when she was out of the gloomy halls of her home. It was hard to keep a professional distance when lurking in her mind made him so attuned to every powerful mood swing, though rarely had he felt such a purely good emotion from Maeve. On some bizarre, soul deep level she needed this. The time outside, the sacred time exploring forests and wilds she already knew by heart as though there would be something new in them to discover. She was radiant with her joy at being able to share it with him, occasionally, she would forget herself and babble on about an ancient right to the three hundred acres of woods that were the Sinclaire's.

That they actually weren't a part of Greater Hangleton at all, but had been brought with the house from Scotland. Maybe it was just his irritatingly subtle connection to her mind, but Tom couldn't help but catch some of her excitement. The whole world should be like this, not full of muggle's and all their destruction, their distrust. They were as ugly a blight as the massive crater that had been chewed from one of the prettiest patches of the extensive gardens, evidence of where a stray mortar shell had exploded.

"Isn't this place unplottable? And protected? How was this able to get through?" He knelt to examine the wounded earth, his expression twisted in irritation. Maeve looked solemn as she knelt beside him, sweeping the leaf green skirt of her dress beneath her knees to smooth it. The dress was not cut with the harsh lines of muggle fashion, but neither was it current or common among the more generic of wizarding clothes. It was distinctly medieval in it's make and Maeve would have stood out had she worn it in a common setting. Tom shook himself and drew his gaze back up to her face.

"I'm not sure…father thinks the old wards are failing. It has been many years since they were originally cast. It's not just the normal protective spells, these ones are old. They need to be refreshed with blood at certain times of the year but even that isn't helping anymore. Our bloodline…it's running out." Together they stood and made their winding way through the remains of the fragrant garden.

"How can that be? There are three-"  
"Three is not enough. Megaera hasn't exactly got child-bearing hips…whatever I may think of my father, he saved her life when Ambrose was born. I don't know how, everyone felt sure that she was going to die when she hemorrhaged so badly. It left her…injured. She couldn't have anymore children after that." Absently, Maeve wound her fingers in the blades of a large purple plant; distracted. Tom gently gave her waist a tug and she turned to him so that his lips met hers.

She sighed and gave to his touch and he pushed his fingers through her hair, gripped the small of her back. As he tasted her lips, he tasted her memories…her essence, her sweetness and softness and all the things which he couldn't seem to ever get enough of himself. Hunger seized him in an iron tight grip. Tom's hand tightened on the curve of her jaw, tilted her head up and pulled her mouth to his, deepened the kiss and felt her fingernails clutch at his back and shoulder blades. She made a soft, slightly panicked sound and he pulled away reluctantly, only to have to lunge forward and grab her as she staggered.

"I-oh! Ow! Sorry, Tom. I couldn't breathe." She panted and tried to recover, taking his hand again. Tom watched her, his gray eyes slits of pleasure and inquiry as he allowed her to lead him down the cobbled path.

"Your mother came into your fathers study this morning."

"Ah, she did? I hope she didn't simply demand to be serviced right in front of you?" It was still startling to hear Maeve speak so resentfully and harshly of her mother and sister, but he'd grown somewhat use to it. Enough so that he was able to chuckle about the unsettling experience.

"Not exactly, but I do believe she got what she wanted." Maeve looked mildly surprised and then shrugged.

"Sometimes they're like that, hot and cold. She's convinced he cheats, he refuses to say."

"What do you think?"

"I don't think he's ever cheated. I think she did, when they were engaged. That she eventually wanted him, but she's too proud to admit it. So she has to keep hating him and wanting him. It's desire…not love." She murmured, glancing up at him past her lashes. "Has he told you that he wanted me to come to your lessons?"

"Multiple times." Tom murmured, not without a note of irritation. Tarquin's attempt to use his interactions with Riddle to get back in his daughters good graces were not lost on Tom. What was were the reasons behind them. Maeve read intent behind Tom's frown and spoke:

"It's a long story that ends badly, you don't want to be bothered with it. Let's just say you don't make a lot of friends as a first year when you bring back somebody's dead owl using necromancy. In fact, all the professors watch you like hawks, the ones who your father doesn't have a private meeting with and obliviate into silence." She grumbled, tilting her head to the side and remembering with a wince: "That and of course, killing Ascelipius."

"You were attached to that house elf?"

"That house elf raised me, Tom. Taught me to read…all of the basics. And then Tarquin killed him, just because he wanted to see me make an inferius-" Tom choked on something, possibly an invisible bug and Maeve stopped and hovered around him solicitously for a moment as he hacked once more to clear his throat and looked down at her appraisingly.

"You can create an inferius?" Maeve, still worried about his breathing, almost ignored the question.

"Of course I can, it's not hard. Are you-"

"Fine. Now, explain."

"You want me to explain necromancy to you while we walk casually through a rose garden?" She raised on eyebrow and was able to meet Tom's deathly glare for maybe a moment before he cleared his throat pointedly and she sighed, reaching out to snap off a sprig of yellow roses from a nearby bush. She spoke as she walked, plucking off the blossoms absently:

"Most people don't understand that it's not as if you're bringing back the spirit. You're just using the corporeal body to do your bidding. It's almost like charming something, to be perfectly honest. But it does require ritualistic spell casting…and your own blood. This-why are we talking about this? Can't the plans wait?" Maeve stopped suddenly, tossing aside the rose branch. It bounced on the granite paving stones, divested of all it's blooms so it was merely a harsh and crooked thorny sprig. Tom glanced back at her, cocking his head to the side.

"Wait for what? And why?" Maeve looked plaintive for a moment, as though the reasons were on the tip of her tongue.

"I…never mind, I was being foolish. You probably want to go inside and get out of the sun-" Tom watched his devote servants face fall, saw her fingers grip her skirt and swish it abashedly back and forth like a little girl. The motion irked him somehow and he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Maeve went rigid, apparently unaware she'd been fidgeting until he brought it to her attention.

"Being outside is…fine. I was never in the country except on scheduled outings-" What the _hell _was he saying? "-so it is not something I grew accustomed to very often. But it was useful." He'd meant to say enjoyed being outside. How was being outside useful? Now, he needed an alibi to support his claim or Maeve would spot the inconsistency and wear her irritating little half-smirk for the rest of the day. It was his saving grace then, that he spotted the little adder coiled up like a bit of discarded jewelry. Maeve's smirk was already budding when he looked back at her, his own smile taking on a wicked curve. "For instance, this."

"_Good evening._" The thick-bodied little snake lifted it's tiny head wearily and fixed Tom with it's scarlet gaze.

"_It's been a very long time since someone civil spoke to me, Salazarson. What do you desire from an old nurse snake like me?_" Tom smiled broadly at the little creature and knelt to be on the same level whilst Maeve looked on, shocked and amazed. He held out a hand and the little snake slithered onto it and up his wrist, her powerfully muscular body winding around his forearm. She settled so that her head was on his palm, her serpentine contentment palpable.

"You…you're a parselmouth!" Maeve murmured covetously, astonished. There was something else in her expression that fled almost as soon as he identified it as realization. _Which means he's related to Salazar Slytherin._

"I am." She was focused on the adder wrapped around his wrist, wholly unafraid of the venomous serpent who was likewise eyeing her with similar curiosity.

"She's beautiful…" Maeve swept her skirt out of the way and knelt down in front of Tom, gazing at the little snake with wonder in her eyes.

"How did you know she was female?"

"I…I'm not entirely sure. She just…well, she seems very female." Maeve shrugged, her exquisite lips pulled into a frown.

Tom smiled and whispered something more to the snake, who rose on her belly scales and seemed to glance at Maeve from the corner of one elliptical pupil. Languidly, the snake slithered until she was coiled in Tom's palm, her tail still wrapped firmly around his wrist.

"Hold out your hand." He murmured softly and in an unnaturally gentle movement, clasped Maeve's forearm gently in his own. With a smooth rush of scales, the adder slid around her slender wrist like a living, breathing bracelet, each graceful bunching of squeezing muscles rippling across her flesh. The snake lay poised, tilting it's head to the side.

Maeve inhaled deeply, the scent of roses and damp earth coating her throat. She looked up at Tom, kneeling with her on the path, his ink-dark hair hanging in eyes as gray as a stormy sky. His striking, handsome face and the lips that were almost too cruel to lend themselves well to a smile just curved enough to form an expression of true contentment. He glanced up at her and Maeve looked away, still embarrassed to be caught ogling.

"Does she have a name?" Tom frowned for a moment, as though he hadn't thought to ask this, and then a breathy hiss issued from his lips to which the tiny adder replied. He raised an eyebrow and looked up at Maeve.

"Aspelenie."

Maeve thanked the snake and Aspelenie slithered off their wrists and into the undergrowth, her whip thin tail disappearing into gray green gloom. Tom made to rise to his feet and was stopped by Maeve's fingers clutching his rolled up sleeve and tugging slightly. Tom came back to his knees reluctantly as Maeve turned to watch him, her dark green eyes like the depths of some old, long forgotten forest. Steady in their regard, the rest of her face otherwise expressionless in it's softness.

"The rain-" He quested out with a tendril of thought, confused by her sudden intensity.

He found that she was not, in fact, really thinking. Not in words, but in mental pictures. So intently that he barely had to strain to see them…pictures of him. He felt a raindrop as he watched it land on the bridge of his nose and slide like a tear down it's slope, over his lips. Seeing Maeve's mental picture of him was strange…it was him, and yet it wasn't. Any tiny flaw there might have been(Tom had long ago grown accustomed to meeting people-especially women-and to hear the first thought in their head be how handsome he was, but there was something distinctly different about this.) had been swept from this image, even more perfection heaped upon minute irregularities he himself had noticed.

Her fingers slid down his cheek and he flinched away from the touch. She stopped immediately, withdrawing her hand. The green of her dress was speckled with droplets at her collar, one winding it's way down the pale skin and passed the gold thread of the neckline. The air smelled of the rain, the moisture seeming to sharpen the scent of everything as it cleansed. The smell of her hair and neck…the roses and the damp earth. Every tiny impact of a cool drop seemed to feel twice as heavy and as forceful on his suddenly sensitive skin. Her pulse fluttering under his lips and the warm huff of her breath at his ear. The exquisite sharpness of pleasure and pain as her fingernails dug through the thin fabric of his white collared shirt and bit at the skin of his back.

Thunder so loud as to be directly overhead shocked Maeve so badly she yelped and threw her arms up over her head in sudden fear. The rumbling rivaled a dragon's roar and growl, beating itself against the blackened sky. The rain changed from occasional graceful droplets to buckets of ice-cold water that sluiced down their backs and chilled the heat of moments before.

"Come on!" Maeve grabbed her skirt, lifting it to her knees and fleeing barefoot across the paving stones. Lightning flashed and Tom followed suit, still feeling a thrill that no rain could dampen. They passed a statue of a woman, set alight in the blue fire of another fork of electricity, wearing hunting garments and a long, slitted skirt that blew back in an imaginary wind, woad tattoos engraved in her skin. Another likeness of Rowena, but this one wild.

**End Note:** The ending was abrupt there, I know. I'll polish it later, I just couldn't wait any longer to update. If you notice something in this chapter, even a tiny detail, it's probably significant. Agh, bit of an overload but yes, hopefully it was entertaining :P...


	19. Chapter 19

_"I was working on the proof of one of my poems all morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again." _**~Oscar Wilde**

Hello, hello. Feel free to throw rotten cabbage at me, after all it's been a very long time since I've updated! I implore you to forgive me, the last year has been hard on me and I wasn't in a place where I felt that I could write the story well(or better, Goddess knows I'm really not very good to begin with!). This is a chapter to let you know that I may soon be updating(Please shoot me a review if you'd like me too, the more reviews the sooner I'll start finishing the next chapter. Truth be told I'm a few chapters ahead of this writing wise, but editing needs to be done.). Also, I recently got an anonymous review(deep sadness, when you review anonymously I cant reply!) from an Irish, or possibly Irish, reader asking about naming of all the OC's.

I have to say I was extremely pleased, like a cat with a bowl of cream that they'd noticed! I put a lot of thought into naming these characters, since it's important to me that my OC's be as close to canon as possible or at least can blend into the HP universe. J.K. Rowling is really a naming Goddess, as I'm sure we all know. I'm but a frail and pallid little thing attempting to be maybe even a fraction as awesome as she is when I set about naming. As the reviewer pointed out, a lot of the names I use in Disenchanted are Irish/Gaelic…or come from that general region. And all of them(even down to OC's I probably just named in passing) mean something about the character.

For instance, Maeve means…drum roll please, 'enchanting'. Or intoxicating, whatever your pleasure. Also, it's a name sometimes applied to a sort of nebulous Faerie Queen. A variant on Queen Mab, I think. Her middle name, Aldebaran, is the brightest star in the Taurus constellation and means 'follower'. Sinclaire, well, I simply like the sound of Sinclaire. Also, it's Scottish. Maeve's father, Tarquin(meaning 'proud'), is Scottish and so is most of the Sinclaire family through the ages. Appropriate, since Rowena herself was, apparently, from Scotland. But, if you want to pick apart the name itself, it has the word 'sin' in it and 'Claire' means something like light or hope or whatever. Really it's just an old Scottish name full of epic. And it makes Maeve's name translate as 'Enchanting follower'. Ooooh the cleverness of me! (not really, but you get the point). All the names in the family have a meaning very specific to the character, even Appollonius. For instance, Megaera's two sisters are Tisiphone and Alecto. Google it and be amazed! XD

The death eater's are another group where I went crazy with first names, at least. Adonis is probably the most recognizable if you know anything about Greek myth. He was the mortal lover of Aphrodite and, if I remember correctly, a few other Goddess's? In any case, the whole thing ended up going sour eventually, but Adonis was a pretty boy with a good run when it came to getting laid. Also, point of interest, it has been mentioned before but I like to fling information at you guys rather heavily. He and Maeve are FIRST COUSINS. And he and Aria are now engaged. Eesh, creepy pureblood closeness of the genetic line there.

Rafe's first name means 'wolf counsel'. Appropriate, seeing as he's Tom's right hand man and his dark mark is still in it's very early phases as a stalking wolf. Plus, Rafe has a very strong sort of 'pack mentality' going on with the death eaters. Caoinin is the name I truly just sort of borrowed directly from Gaelic, though. I think I was looking up the definition of 'to keen' even though I knew it already, sometimes I look it up in the dictionary just to feel ridiculously pleased with myself, and read that 'caoinin' was the gaelic for 'to wail/cry out in grief'. What better name for her? And I assure you, it continues to get more and more appropriate as time goes on.

Sooo…that's pretty much it for the interlude. Questions? Comments? Encouragement to get off my lazy gamer arse and write some more on this fic? I warn you, I owe the Hunger Games fans a chapter first, but your chapter(if you should so choose that you would like me to finish it) is mostly written.

Also, special thanks to Falconflight, Laina26, Smizzlemort and an assortment of others, Including the tremendously special thanks to one Cousland, who listens to my frenetic writer bitching and helps me write some crack filled side plots when the whole thing gets to angsty…

In any case, thanks so much for reading/reviewing/fav and alerting, wouldn't be writing without you! :D


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